I can’t help it! I know obesity is wrong, but dammit, he’s so cute.

7 years for “losing it”?

NORRISTOWN, Pennsylvania (AP) — A former Ivy League professor pleaded guilty Monday to voluntary manslaughter for killing his wife as she wrapped Christmas presents last year.

Rafael Robb says he “lost it” during an argument with his wife.

Rafael Robb, once a tenured economics professor at the University of Pennsylvania, faces a prison sentence of no more than seven years for bludgeoning his wife, Ellen, on December 22. Robb, 57, said Monday that he got into an argument with his wife about a trip she was taking with their daughter and whether they would be returning in time for the daughter to return to school.

“We started a discussion about that. The discussion was tense,” Robb said. “We were both anxious about it. We both got angry. At one point, Ellen pushed me. … I just lost it.”

Ellen Robb, 49, described as a stay-at-home mother who doted on their only child, died in the kitchen of their home in Upper Merion Township, outside Philadelphia.

Detectives believed the scene had been staged to look like a burglary. The murder weapon, which Robb described as an exercise bar, was not found. The couple married in 1990 but had long been estranged, keeping separate bedrooms.

Rafael Robb apologized to his daughter and family in court Monday.

“I know she liked her mother. … And now she doesn’t have a mother,” he said, stifling tears.

To put it mildly. And with a father like you …

“They took the bar, the whole fucking bar.”

In what can only be described as a crime against nature, hundreds of bottles of Jack Daniels — some of it a century old — might be poured down the drain.

Channel 4 News in Nashville has the story:

Here’s a sobering thought: Hundreds of bottles of Jack Daniel’s whiskey, some of it almost 100 years old, may be unceremoniously poured down a drain because authorities suspect it was being sold by someone without a license.

Officials seized 2,400 bottles late last month during warehouse raids in Nashville and Lynchburg, the southern Tennessee town where the whiskey is distilled.

“Punish the person, not the whiskey,” said an outraged Kyle MacDonald, 28, a Jack Daniel’s drinker from British Columbia who promotes the whiskey on his blog. “Jack never did anything wrong, and the whiskey itself is innocent.”

Indeed, Mr. MacDonald, the whiskey is innocent.

The whiskey never hurt anyone.

In fact, it may be argued that the whiskey has life-sustaining powers more powerful than any herb, vitamin or elixir.

Issues of health aside, the disposing of century-old Jack Daniels that never hurt anyone and exists only to bring a little light into our otherwise bleak lives is a sin. I liken it to burning perfectly good weed, just because someone was selling it illegally.

Think of the good work that could be done with the whiskey. Think of the money that could be raised by auctioning it off. Think of the spirits that could be lifted simply by letting bloggers in L.A. drink it.

I’ve got a friend with Kansas City connections. And every time he returns from the Midwest, he brings me a bottle of Jack, from a vintage not available easily in Los Angeles. How I look forward to that first, smooth sip … it’s mother’s milk.

Tonight, I’ll go home and pour myself a few fingers of the amber liquid. And I’ll lift the glass to my lips and drink, slowly to savor the smooth taste. And as I roll my friend Jack around my mouth before swallowing, I’ll say a little prayer for innocent whiskey wasted.

Of course we did, goddammit!

From the NYT:

“Even growing up around it, little shards of the language stayed alive in our mouths and came out as slang,” he said, spouting a string of words that sounded straight out of a James Cagney movie.

“Snazzy” comes from “snasach,” which means polished, glossy or elegant.*

The word “scram” comes from “scaraim,” meaning “I get away.” The word “swell” comes from “sóúil,” meaning luxurious, rich and prosperous, and “sucker” comes from “sách úr,” or, loosely, fat cat.

There is “Say uncle!” (“anacal” means mercy), “razzmatazz,” and “malarkey,” and even expressions like “gee whiz” and “holy cow” and “holy mackerel” are Anglicized versions of Irish expressions, he said. So are “doozy,” “hokum,” “humdinger,” “jerk,” “punk,” “swanky,” “grifter,” “bailiwick,” “sap,” “mug,” “wallop,” “helter-skelter,” “shack,” “shanty,” “slob,” “slacker” and “knack.”

*ahem.

or, “They’ll bond with anything! Film at 11!”

Then again, there’s always the terrifying, “Robots can take us over and we’re just fine with it,” theory, too.

Source

today I got to tell her that she was my hero!

Barack bin Osama Obama Laden sends Colbert to the Frigidaire. A baby believed to be the reincarnation of Vishnu is a blessing, but is still getting some limbs pruned. Over in my work world, the WGA strikers are out and about. A little late for day of the dead, this fella turned up alive after his mum cremated him. I like how they said he was “living rough.” Back in my old hometown, a lawyer is being prosecuted for “moonlighting” as a rapist. Not exactly the term I would use. He broke probation (!) to go see the Pats play the Dolphins, and moonlighted over Miami. Pope Benedict meets King Abdullah and discusses fall fashions. Maybe Colbert can help him since he’s not working and knows a thing or two about fashion? A friend of mine is in Bulgaria and I’m thinking of asking him to pick me up the latest issue (No. 107) of the Catholic Church Bankruptcy News. Maybe the Hookers for Jesus can help them with fundraising?

Ugh! I’m ready to curl up with some hot cocoa and tivo’d Green Acres.

PS. I don’t plug my own blog, that’s tacky. But I should have covered this story here on MRev … and considering the comments of late, it’s getting quite interesting.

Over on Altercation, LTC. Robert Bateman deconstructs the peculiar theories of Right Blogostan’s favorite historian, Victor Davis Hanson, who specializes in the twisting of history to fit political convenience.

Well, completely contrary to Hanson’s thesis about how Western armies seek battle, hold ground, and strive for short and sharp shock conflicts, the reality was that the Romans, for the next 14 years, deliberately avoided shock and pitched battles with Hannibal. (Remember these Hanson lines? “All armies engage in mass confrontations at times; few prefer to do so in horrendous collisions of shock and eschew fighting at a distance or through stealth when there is at least the opportunity for decisive battle…” and “Foot soldiers are common in every culture, but infantrymen, fighting en masse, who take and hold ground and fight face-to-face, are a uniquely Western specialty…” (pg. 445))

What the Romans actually did was exactly the opposite of the Hanson thesis. They broke up their armies into smaller forces and harassed Hannibal indirectly. They gave ground, regularly, and lived to maneuver another day. They sought to wear him down, while preserving their own forces. They avoided pitched battles on any large scale. In short, they followed the direct advice of one of the other most famous generals of all time, one who is only mentioned by name a single time in the entire chapter (and then without noting his actions). That man was Quintus Fabius Maximus, called “Cunctator” (The Delayer), and it is from him that we have the term “Fabian Strategy,” which was so magnificently put into play by a fellow named George Washington a couple of millennia later.

How Hanson missed that extra 14-year part where the Romans avoided major pitched battles in Italy is curious.

Click on the link and read the whole thing.

Speaking of the v-word and others - these stories always have great names and related words: Moore, horse barn, Wolfe City. Poor Angie - everyone knows that if you hitchhike, you gotta pay!

FANNIN COUNTY, Tex. — One man is in prison after allegedly stabbing the driver he hitched a ride with over the weekend. The victim is recovering, but it’s the details of the case that officials say make it unlike any they’ve ever seen.

Fannin County Sheriff’s Deputies received the original call at 2:40 on Saturday afternoon about a suspect involved in a stabbing located at the intersection of County Road 3830 and Highway 11. When deputies arrived on the scene they found that the case they were working on involved a lot more than they had planned.

Fannin County sheriff Kenneth Moore says he was shocked when he heard what happened this past Saturday just west of Wolfe City.

When deputies arrived on the scene they found James Wayne Evans, 43, a hitchhiker who confessed to stabbing the person who gave him a ride and apparently expected something in return.

“Whenever the individual that picked up the hitchhiker wanted more intimacy and that was about to happen, he determined at that point the intimacy would stop,” said Fannin County Sheriff Kenneth Moore.

Officials say Evans was hitch hiking down Interstate 30 in Arlington when a white female known only as ‘Angie’ picked him up. Soon thereafter, the 42-year-old driver invited Evans back to her horse barn just outside of Wolfe City.

When they arrived, the two became intimate, and officials say ‘Angie’ asked Evans to perform oral sex on her.

That’s when they say Evans got quite a surprise. “(When he did) comply with the female subject, he found out it was in fact not a female, but a male,” Sheriff Moore said.

Officials say Evans pulled out a knife and stabbed ‘Angie’– who is a man– multiple times.

‘Angie’ was flown to Parkland Hospital where he was treated and released.

Authorities warn regardless of the situation that picking up hitch hikers is never a good idea.

“You don’t know that individual walking down the highway. Why in the world would you stop and pick up someone you don’t know because in today’s environment that’s just not a safe thing to do,” Moore said.

Evans was taken into custody and taken to the Fannin County Jail where bond has been set at $50,000.

Source

All over Los Angeles. I’m in the Valley and because of the Santa Anas, no sign of fire until now. Even parts of Malibu are smoke free. Coming out of the supermarket, I can see grey stripes across the sky, even darker when I put my sunglasses on. This is bad, which is of course the understatement of the year. It’s bad for Valley residents (I have no geographical shame - I like it here!) because we’re basically an ice-cream-scoop of land, and when the bad air settles in - unless the Santa Anas blow it out - it will linger over us. Two Octobers ago it rained ash as I drove down Ventura Blvd at 8pm, the streets oddly silent and the stores closed, almost as if it were Christmas.

My friend who owns the high desert ranch where I spend a lot of my time lives near San Diego and I think, that’s not possible, to have to go through that again. Last year the Sawtooth fires scorched the high desert, destroying hundreds of years of joshua trees and disrupting the entire ecosystem that depends on them, not to mention burning buildings everywhere. I was there right after the burn, when things were still smoldering, to pick remnants from the ash piles and marvel at how a fireball landed on the cabin just feet away from my hammock, destroying the building in its entirety but leaving my resting place unsinged.

On Saturday I was in Malibu, enjoying the glorious weather and the luxury of being a passenger for once, leaning back in my seat and feeling the cool blue-green air. “We’re so lucky,” I said to my friend as we drove through Malibu Canyon. “I can’t wait to spend this week at the beach.” I think about that and realize how stupid and spoiled it sounds, only three days later.

In the supermarket an elderly man hummed to himself and I saw a paper mask around his neck.

“I was a medic during the war and you cannot do enough to save your lungs,” he told me. “Buy a mask.”