The Razor

At Dean’s World

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve liked fireworks. Back in the early 70s before society’s Self-Appointed Nannies banned them in most places, I remember traveling across the county line with my sister and her husband to buy boxes of Black Cat bottlerockets in “grosses”, firecrackers in “bricks” and “sticks” of Roman Candles. Oh, just to make those nannies cringe today I might mention that I did so in the back of a station wagon unbelted and with the tailgate window rolled down.

Summer to me will always mean the smell of black powder and the incense-like “punks” that were used to light the fireworks. Add in the sound of a lit fuse and the staccato bursts of a pack of firecrackers to silence the whining cicadas, and you have an idea of what summer was like for me growing up in the midwestern suburbs in the ‘70s.

But by far the best memories are of the fireworks shows I attended. In those days each shell was lit by a man with a red railroad flare, and the sight of that flare as the dusk deepened was a sign that the fireworks were minutes away.

Looking at fireworks as an adult, I see something very Zen about anticipating the explosion of a firework and fully appreciating its beauty for the few seconds it lasts. It is an ethereal beauty that cameras and videos cannot really fully capture, but one that leaves an afterglow that in some instances may persist for years, at least in memories.

I mention this today because I recently attended a show at the local “Ice Cream Festival” and saw some of the most beautiful explosions I have ever seen.

Shaped charges of blood red outlined hearts and iridescent blue stars peppered the nighttime sky. Aerial waterfalls with streams of light that cascaded down for hundreds of feet. Explosions of circles within circles around a bright white core like gigantic atoms in the sky. Oval bursts of white light between sprays of gold, red and purple appeared like giant fiery butterflies. Traces of gold lines crossed and connected making the sky appear cross-hatched with gleaming golden thread.

At some shows those who paint the sky with light tend to rely upon amount to impress the audience. However this show excited the crowd with its breathtaking designs and use of color alone. Every explosion added to the overall piece – nothing was wasted. There was never a moment when you felt bored with the show, when you looked at your watch and wondered how fast you could get to the car to beat the crowd.

I would have to say that this was the first time I have ever appreciated the true art involved with fireworks displays. There was an artistry apparent in the skies – in the timing of the explosions, in their placement, even in their design. The carefully sculpted light brought out a child-like wonder in me, and for a few minutes I felt like a kid again, entranced by a beautiful and magical display of light and explosions.

Of course there is science behind the magic. There are journals devoted to fireworks with articles such as “Application of Semenow’s and Frank-Kamenstskii’s Thermal Ignition Theories to Firework Reactions”. I don’t know if the journal is peer reviewed but it wouldn’t surprise me. Even NOVA - one of the two shows worth watching on PBS (the other being Antiques Roadshow) did an episode on the science behind the magic of fireworks.

I spoke to Anthony Clark, one of the organizers of the Ice Cream Festival, and learned that Zambelli was the company hired for the display. He states that Zambelli has been used at the Festival for years because of their record of quality and safety – an absolute necessity since the show occurs over the historic Rockwood Mansion. According to Clark, Zambelli mixes its own gunpowder and then ships it to China for packaging into the fireworks it has designed. This helps the firm to maintain a strict level of quality control over each shell. And the quality was apparent. Considering that the show occurs over a mansion in a densely populated suburb, not a single spark appeared to go astray or hit the ground while alight.

I recognize that The Kid will never have the same memories I do of the infamous M-80 launching a sewer lid 20 feet in the air. But he will have the memories of the fireworks show we saw last night. Each of our memories are our own, but I hope that when he takes his children to a fireworks show he will remember the magic we shared under a sky painted with beautiful explosions.

From a forwarded email (thanks Eric S.):

Remember Me?
From Mary Jo Kopechne

I would have been 65 years of age this year. Read about me and my killer below.

When Sen. Ted Kennedy was merely just another Democrat bloating on Capitol Hill on behalf of liberal causes, it was perhaps excusable to ignore his deplorable past.

But now that he’s become a leading Republican attack dog, positioning himself as Washington’s leading arbiter of truth and integrity, the days for such indulgence are now over.

It’s time for the GOP to stand up and remind America why this chief spokesman had to abandon his own presidential bid in 1980 – time to say the words Mary Jo Kopechne out loud.

As is often the case, Republicans have deluded themselves into thinking that most Americans already know the story of how this “Conscience of the Democratic Party” left Miss Kopechne behind to die in the waters underneath the Edgartown Bridge in July 1969, after a night of drinking and partying with the young blonde campaign worker.

But most Americans under 40 have never heard that story, or details of how Kennedy swam to safety, then tried to get his cousin Joe Garghan to say he was behind the wheel.

Those young voters don’t know how Miss Kopechne, trapped inside Kennedy’s Oldsmobile, gasped for air until she finally died, while the Democrats’ leading Iraq war critic rushed back to his compound to formulate the best alibi he could think of.

Neither does Generation X know how Kennedy was thrown out of Harvard on his ear 15 years earlier—for paying a fellow student to take his Spanish final. Or why the US Army denied him a commission because he cheated on tests.

As they listen to the Democrats’ “Liberal Lion” accuse President Bush of “telling lie after lie after lie” to get America to go to war in Iraq, young voters don’t know about that notorious 1991 Easter weekend in Palm Beach, when Uncle Teddy rounded up his nephews for a night on the town, an evening that ended with one of them credibly accused of rape.

It’s time for Republicans to state unabashedly that they will no longer “go along with the gag” when it comes to Uncle Ted’s rants about deception and moral turpitude inside the Bush White House.

And if the Republicans don’t, let’s do it ourselves by passing this forgotten disgrace around the Internet to wake up memories of what a fraud and fake Teddy really is.

The Democratic Party should be ashamed to have the national disgrace from Massachusettsas their spokesman.

And the GOP needs to say so out loud!!

I’m not into Freudian psychology even though like many undergrads I was exposed to it. I don’t believe that everything boils down to sex (boobies), or that everything has a (boobies) subliminal or psycho-sexual message.

But the longer I watch the Islamo-fascists, the more I begin to wonder if these men have a serious bug up their butt when it comes to sexuality. I got to thinking about this while considering this story about Iraqi pro-Saddam loyalists attacking Zarqawi’s Merry Band of Psychopaths. Money quote:

Following al-Qa’eda’s seizure of the main buildings a number of residents fled. Arkan Salim, 56, who left with his wife and four children, said: “We thought they were patriotic. Now we discovered that they are sick and crazy.

“They interfered in everything, even how we raise our children. They turned the city into hell, and we cannot live in it anymore.”

Then there is this story about Sweden’s growing problem with unassimilated Muslims:

The city is descending into general chaos. Fights in the city’s movie theatres have become a recurrent problem. Numbers released in January 2005 indicate a sharp rise in the number of rape charges in Malmö. Thomas Anderberg, responsible for statistics at the Malmö Police, says there was a doubling of the number of reported rapes by ambush in 2004, following what was already a decade of steadily increasing numbers of sexual crimes.

Perhaps the problem is a view of sexuality that is rooted in the 7th Century AD. Women must be bagged to prevent lustful thoughts of men in what is perhaps History’s first Thought Police. Or perhaps it’s male insecurity of men who cannot get laid without denigrating half of the human race first.

Western men have successfully evolved and adapted to liberated women. Through the years men have used various guises – sensitivity, displays of wealth (homes, cars) and now (alas!) careful grooming – to lure a mate. Today’s man might smell good and share his girlfriend’s pain, but rest assured beneath that soft exterior there is the heart of a beating Cro-Magnon who deeply, intensely thinks about one thing: boobies.

Today’s Western Man doesn’ t have to subjugate women to get laid – he seduces them with his wit, lack of body hair, and leased sports car. Women want t0 sleep with him, there is no coercion, no religious excuses for subjugating an important half of Humanity.

And that drives Islamo-fascists nuts – because no matter how many women they throw in bags, no matter how many Buddhas or jihadis they blow up, women will not freely choose to have sex with them. In that respect they are no different than the pedophiles who twist their sexuality towards children because they don’t have the guts to make it with a real, unbagged and unchained woman.

On a bottle of dishwashing detergent: “Marine Purity”

Now what the f@@k does that mean? I we talking the purity of the ocean off the coast of Tijuana or the purity of the average hoo-rah United States Marine? Neither is pure unless your sense of purity is killing things until they are 100% dead. US Marines are extremely good at that – as is the water off TJ.

Picture 1 – 1979:

Picture 2 – 2005:

The guy on the right in 1979 sure looks like the guy on the left in 2005. According to several hostages, he was one of the bad ones:

A Pinehurst man who was held hostage in Iran says the president-elect of that fundamentalist Islamic country headed a team of interrogators who threatened to kidnap his handicapped son and send the boy’s severed toes and fingers to his wife.

A quarter century after he and 51 other American hostages were taken captive, retired Air Force Col. David Roeder said Friday that he recognized President-elect Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, 49, from television footage as the man “clearly in charge” of his inquisitors. ...

Roeder also was riveted by memories of the interrogation where his son, Jim, who has a form of cerebral palsy, was threatened.

Ahmadinejad “was not the interrogator or the interpreter, but he was there, and he was clearly in charge,” Roeder said.

The threat to his family was detailed, he said. His captors knew the address of the home in Alexandria, Va., where his wife and two children were living. They also knew the number of the bus his son rode to special education class and the location of the school.

“When they know so much about your family, that’s scary,” he said. “They were getting their information from somewhere, and there were Iranian students all over the U.S.”

The only good news here is that it will be even harder for the Europeans to back this guy. It will also make it easier to destabilize Iran from the inside.

About many things Americans have incredibly short memories. The Iranians Hostage Crisis is not one of them.

Hat-tip to Johah at the NRO:

Link to source:

World’s Oldest Person Celebrates 115th Birthday
AMSTERDAM (Reuters) – A Dutch woman who swears by a daily helping of herring for a healthy life celebrated her 115th birthday on Wednesday as the oldest living person on record.

Hendrikje van Andel-Schipper, a former needlework teacher, was born in 1890, the year Sioux Indians were massacred by the U.S. military at the Battle of Wounded Knee.

The passionate soccer fan celebrated her birthday in a nursing home in the northern Dutch town of Hoogeveen.

Here are some other noteworthy events of 1890 which the Reuters stringer ignored:
... the year Dutch painter Vincent Van Gogh shot himself in the chest and died two days later.

... the year Britain received Zanzibar from Germany in exchange for Heligoland as European exploitation of Africa continued apace.

Granted, 1890 was a pretty lame year as far as things go as a Wikipedia search shows, so why not expand the timeline a bit?

... five years after King Leopold of Belgium began the systematic rape and looting of the Congo.

... 15 years before King Leopold’s Force Publique massacred men, women and children in order to force them to work on the King’s rubber plantations.

... 50 years before the May 1940 Nazi invasion of the Netherlands which resulted in the extermination of the highest percentage of Jews in Europe.

... 54 years before her Dutch neighbors turned Anne Frank and her family over to the SS.

... 98 years before the Dutch supplied poison gas to Chemical Ali used to massacre Kurds in Halabja.