Author: Kim du Toit

Head & Shoulders

The Gun Thing

Sent to me by Reader Tony H (thankee, squire), an analysis of shotgun brands sold.

Executive summary:  It’s Mossberg (43%), and then all the others.  (Add Legacy, at 24%, and that’s two-thirds of the market.)

I’m rather surprised at Mossberg’s dominance, but no overly so.  The shotgun is the most basic kind of firearm extant and the fact that Mossberg’s budget-priced line dominates the market reflects its commodity positioning.

Me, I’m casting longing eyes at the shotgun I’ve always really wanted, the Mossberg 590 Mariner (~$625 street):

And yes, despite my preference for the 20ga chambering in general, I’d get it in 12ga because nothing says “Fuck Off And Die (FOAD)” like a couple pops of 00 Buck thereof.

Self-defense in its purest, and most basic form.

Difficult Comparison

Men & Women

Here’s an interesting one:

A new survey of 6,000 respondents from the UK, France, Spain, Italy, Germany and the US has found which European language is considered the most attractive.

The previous poll, which was released in 2017, named French the sexiest language — but that was displaced by this new research.

This year’s survey showed that Italian is now rated as the world’s most attractive language.

Hmmm.  Of course this is subjective, but it’s quite fascinating as a thought exercise.  It’s also difficult to stage the question, because in many cases the respondents may not have actually had experience with hearing the languages spoken in sexy tones or in a sexy context.

One could try to imagine who would sound sexier over a romantic dinner, say Marion Cotillard vs. Monica Bellucci:

…but really, it’s almost impossible.  Now, which one of the above two has the sexier accent when speaking English?  Ooooh, even more difficult.  French is softer, but Italian is more passionate.

Try Françoise Hardy vs. Ornella Vanoni, then.  Even more difficult, and more so when you understand the lyrics — wistful vs. heartbroken.

Maybe a few more choices would help.  Catherine Deneuve vs. Sophia Loren?

How about Melanie Laurent vs. Francesca Dellara?

Okay. I don’t think any of this is helping.  I myself cannot decide between gentle and passionate, so I’m declaring a tie.

Close, But No Cigar

Good Stuff, Heroism

Reader Mike L. asks me whether this incident is worthy of being classified as a Righteous Shooting.

It nearly is, Mike, except for this part:

The break-in attempt did not go as planned. The owner, Gordon Richard Sr., 75, used a muzzleloader rifle to shoot one of the three men, causing the other two to flee. He then secured himself inside the home and called the police.

State police say the man who was shot was 39-year-old Paul E. Brown of Milton and St. Albans, he was seriously injured.

When police arrived, the other two intruders had fled. The police report states, “Responding troopers located Brown in a neighbor’s yard. No other individuals were found at the scene. Brown was transported by ambulance to Northwestern Medical Center in St. Albans and later transferred to the University of Vermont Medical Center in Burlington, where he was listed in critical condition Wednesday afternoon.”

You all know the rules:  no dead goblin, no Righteous Shooting.

But Our Hero deserves a huge “Attaboy” from all of us for using a muzzleloader to send the “Leave Me Alone” message to the would-be property redistrubutionist.

Oh, and Mike?  Let me know if the goblin snuffs it, so I can upgrade the award from Armed Good Guy to Righteous Shooter.

Overshooting

Eco-Crap

No, that’s not when you shoot off all your ammo at the range and have to drive home with an empty gun (yeah, we’ve all done it, nothing to be ashamed about).  What I’m talking about here is a series of predictive models which are not only wrong, but hopelessly wrong.

We all know (I think, except maybe for “climatologists”) that the way to test your model is to take all the history available except the most recent set, and feed that back data into your model to measure its prediction against the most recent data.  (Back when I used to do this stuff for a living, we used to call it “using history to predict yesterday”).

So here are the conclusions of a whole bunch of predictive models used to predict future temperature change / increase for a specific area:

Looks kinda alarming, doesn’t it?  (Okay. what’s alarming to me is the variation in predicted output between the models, but leave that alone for the moment.)

Now let’s drop the actual recorded data for the period and area into the graph, to see where it falls (same graph, plus actual):

Ummmm yes.  The only model which came even close to reality (Observations) was “INH-CMS-0”, and even that one overstated actual temperature increase by a factor of almost 40%.  Oops.

And by the way?  A change of 1.6 degrees over an average decade over four decades (80 40 years) is what we model builders used to call “noise” — i.e. insignificant.  Never mind a large area like the U.S. Corn Belt;  an increase of 1.6 degrees in air temperature is insignificant in your house.

Here’s the whole analysis, which is long and kinda involved, even for me.  The executive summary is what I’ve reproduced above.

And Robert Spencer gives us the summary of the executive summary, which is:

…or as we statisticians used to call it informally:

And John Hinderaker pointed out something else which should make everyone suspicious (it did me when I first looked at the chart):

Someone pointed out with respect to these data – I would credit him, but I can’t now find the reference – that if it were simply a matter of mathematical errors or inconsistencies, one would expect some models to err on the “hot side” and others on the “cold side” of actual observations. But that isn’t the case: all of the models run hot. That suggests that global warming alarmism is a political, not a scientific, movement.

Yup.  Let’s worry about something else;  this horse (Global Warming Climate Cooling Change©) is dead, and cannot be revived by MOAR HYSTERIA or STILL MOAR WHIPPING.

“Dear Dr. Kim”

Advice

Here’s an interesting situation:  a letter from each side of a dispute.

Hers:

“Mon cher Médecin du Toit:

“I am the girlfriend of a famous English footballer, but mon Dieu!  he gives me beaucoup de mals de tête, because he is always flirting and making the love with other women.  And when I argue with him and tell him to stop the affaires, he gets tout à fait  angry with me.

“Not long ago, en fait, he actually made me leave his chambre à hotel  because I was réprimanding  him for kissing another woman right in front of me, and showing me no respect!

“I give to him myself and everything he wants of me, yet it seems to be not enough.

“Monsieur le médecin, que faire?”

— Une femme derangée, Paris

Dear Deranged: 

Let me get this straight:  you get involved with a  young, rich and successful footballer, and you expect him to treat you properly?  You didn’t mention his ethnic group / race, but I don’t need to know that because from experience, his kind behaves more or less the same, regardless of race or background.  (Your own countryman David Ginola was, in his time, no different from your guy, and he only “settled down” after he retired from football and, well, grew up.)

There is no easy answer to this problem.  You were attracted to this guy for — let’s face it — his body, fame and fortune (in no specific order).  If he hadn’t had any of those, you wouldn’t have given him a second glance.  Unfortunately, those same attributes make it difficult for him to treat you “properly” because — let’s face it again — there are lots of women like you, and faced with that smorgasbord, very few men of that type are going to remain celibate let alone faithful for long. 

You’ve made your choice, so there it is:  live with it, or leave it.  Jeff Bezos is already taken, so short of getting a job in telemarketing or food service, your options are to go with a less famous but equally-rich guy, but beware:  the competition for them is even greater than for footballers who are, to be honest, a euro a dozen and if I may be… franc, you’re not that special.

Bonne chance.

—

And from the other half of this relationship:

“Yo Doctor, whatever:

“My main woman is batshit crazy, and no matter how much loot ‘n jewels ‘n stuff I give her, she’s always complaining.  I know I don’t always behave well, but you know?  when you’re earning over fifty grand a week, you always gotta prove to the Guvnor that you’re worth it, and that’s like stressful.  So yeah, sometimes I get a little outta control, but I have to do it to keep my balance going, yeah?

“Also, last season I scored like seventeen goals, and this year only three, so like people are wondering if it’s all over for me, yeah?  And I’m not even an old man of thirty yet, and I might not get picked for England again because I “party too hard” or some shit.  Know what that does to my head, right?

“And then when I get home or to my hotel room or whatever, my girl gets on my case because I did like twenty tequilas and kissed some bitch who stuck her mouth into my face.

“So I’m getting shit at the club, the newspapers think I’m some kind of degenerate, and my main squeeze thinks I’m seven kinds of arsehole.

“Doctor, what can I do, man?”

— Football God

Dear Godless,

If you think life is tough now, just wait until your career is over, your health has gone down the drain and the only relationship you have with women is through child support cheques.

I don’t blame you, though:  I blame the fact that people with questionable skills (sportsmen, actors etc.) are overpaid and start thinking that a) the gravy train will last forever and that b) they are immortal and nobody can tell them what to do. 

My advice is to read — I know, read? — something called “The Gods Of The Copybook Headings“, and have it all explained to you by someone with a little more than the O-levels you clearly missed out on. 

Perhaps then you’ll stop acting like an overindulged child, but I doubt it.  Oh, and don’t expect your French girlfriend to put up with you forever — Frog chicks can be pretty tough about this kind of thing, and you’re fortunate that she hasn’t shot you dead or poisoned your breakfast cereal, yet.  Remember that she too has options;  only they’re not footballers but rich older men who want and will pay, a lot more than you are, for whatever it is she’s selling.

I’d wish you good luck, but you’ve already had that (football talent, youth and a club scout who spotted you earlier on), and you’re pissing it all away instead of going on your knees every day and thanking God for it.  So:  have fun with whatever remains of your worthless life.

—