Green Hell

The Gift of Fear

Every so often, I’ll encounter a book I consider a “must read.” They’re few and far between (most truly great books are), but they do exist – a comfort in a time in which most of what makes its way to the booksellers’ shelves isn’t fit to use as toilet paper.

The “interesting” life I’ve led since my middle-teens has placed me in contact with the “wild’n’wooly” side of existence on numerous occasions. As a result of these experiences, I’ve long since developed an interest in self-defense, self protection, and – the real key to both – what makes the odd critter yclept Homo sapiens "tick."

The field, unfortunately, is loaded with books -- most of which are utter dross. My Bro Marc “Animal” MacYoung and the good folk on his Animal List refer to them as “fantasy solutions to fantasy problems,” and they’re absolutely right. As my language is usually coarser, I refer to most of ‘em as: “fucktards teaching fucktards how to get killed.”

For starters, it’s nearly impossible to learn effective defense simply by reading a book. However simple certain techniques may appear, they must be performed with proper form and an understanding of when and where they’re applicable. Moreover, they must be practiced thousands of times, until they’re ingrained. Realistically, there are only three ways of doing this: 1.) Spend a hell of a lot of time getting into knock-down-drag-outs; 2.) Study under a skilled instructor; and 3.) A little bit of both.

Even for those who opt to learn martial arts/self-defense (they’re not the same thing, by the way) there are real-world headaches with which to contend. I learned this from personal experience, and from my late father.

Da was attorney who handled indigent defense, among other things. Naturally, this made for some great chats over a few brews – swapping anecdotes is always fun – but it also proved very instructive. One day, back in 1996, a friend and I were practicing various techniques in the backyard. My father, who had just come home, watched us for a few minutes, and then went inside.

When our training session was over, I entered the kitchen, cracked open a cold beer, and said “howdy” to Daddy. He turned to me and said, “Son, you’d better hope to God you never actually have to use that stuff on anyone.”

Curious, I asked him why. At that point, he referred me to the Georgia Criminal Code. To say that the experience was an eye-opener is an understatement. Before I mention why, allow me a digression, Gentle Reader.

The number of skels behind bars is a fraction of those who stand trial. This, in turn is a fraction of the number who are arrested, which is a fraction of those who are caught in flagrante or reported, which is a fraction of the number of crimes actually committed. NCIC figures be damned: In America, crime definitely pays. It’s entirely possible to make a career of crime, and never once face the cops, let alone a judge and jury.

Unless one is forced to defend oneself, that is.

When you, the good citizen, gouge out a mook’s eye, rupture his eardrums, or apply one of those nifty little joint locks you learned in the dojo last week, you probably will be talking to the cops – as you’ll probably call them to report the incident. When you do -- and they show up, you’ll be hustled off to the station for questioning, too, in many cases. To the cops, it’s an “incident,” and must be thoroughly investigated.

It’s entirely possible, after all, that any given wheelchair-bound, ninety-year-old granny with bifocals and a hearing aid is, in fact, a bloodthirsty white supremacist, who lures poor, unsuspecting, 350-lb, crowbar-toting specimens of radical onomastic individualism into her kitchen at 03:00, in order to murder them.

Until the house is thoroughly searched for copies of Gone With the Wind and other hate literature, the authorities have no choice but to treat her as a suspect.

At this point, the trouble is only beginning. Unless you, the good citizen, can prove that the level of force was justifiable, you’re in a world of shit. Under Georgia law, willingly depriving a person of the use of a limb or organ (stomping his balls to paste, breaking bones, driving his floating rib into his liver, etc.) is not merely a felony, but an aggravated felony. It’s called “aggravated battery,” and carries a ten-year minimum mandatory sentence.

Add to this that a gun is an impersonal, distance weapon (I doubt hunting would be as popular as it is, were we required to use spears) while CQC techniques are, by definition, “up close and personal.” Employing them requires a hell of a lot more commitment and ferocity than squeezing a trigger, which is why – as a general rule – cops are extra-wary of knifers and guys with enlarged, calloused knuckles and filed teeth and/or fingernails.

It goes without saying, then, that they – and that lovable bunch known as prosecutors – are rather leery of those who voluntarily learn effective, efficient methods of pissing on a jughead’s parade.

For these reasons – among many, many others – avoidance and awareness are the “ounce(s) of prevention” that often render the “pound of cure” (i.e., pounding the shit out of a malefactor with a tire iron, thereby risking a stay in the famed Hôtel Crossbar) unnecessary.

Despite the paucity of good, reliable reading in the overall MA/SD field, there are a few truly superb guides to keeping one’s ass out of trouble on the market. As knowing what to look for is the key to knowing what to avoid, it stands to reason that learning to spot warning signs is the first step to avoiding trouble altogether. I can think of no better starting points than the ones I’m about to list.

My personal “must reads” in the awareness/avoidance category are: Anything by Marc “Animal” MacYoung (yeah, he’s become a dear Bro, but the fact that Cheap Shots, Ambushes, and Other Lessons was the most sensible book on MA/SD I’d read to date was what inspired me to email him in the first place); Inside the Criminal Mind, by Stanton Samenow; anything by Richard Bandler and John Grinder; Blink, by Malcolm Gladwell; and now, The Gift of Fear, by Gavin Becker.

With the exception of Blink, none of these titles is especially enjoyable reading. MacYoung’s books come closest, as his writing style is down-to-earth, no-bullshit, and -- as one of his publishers advertised -- “hilarious, but hard-bitten.” This quality renders his work enjoyable in some ways – but not in others.

Enjoyableness, though, isn’t always the mark of a great book.

Self-defense is, by definition, an exercise in interaction. In short: “It takes two to tango,” as the old saying goes. All the titles I’ve listed offer clues to assessing the behaviors of the other – one partner in the self-protection “dance” -- but just as importantly, they invite one to examine oneself and one’s way of perceiving and evaluating the outside world.

This, needless to say, isn’t always fun. But it’s always necessary.

When first I read Marc’s Cheap Shots…, I was slowly recovering from a severe knee injury, one that effectively shitcanned further advancement in the style I was studying at the time. Moreover, it deprived me of the use of my longest and strongest weapon -- my right leg – and left me feeling helpless and, worse still, hopeless.

For reasons too numerous and complex to mention, I’d tacked a good bit of my identity to the martial arts “lifestyle” (and there is one, to be sure), which I had to abandon. For the record, I won’t knock it entirely, as I got quite a bit out of it. Ultimately, though, I took it too seriously and used the “karate guy” bit as a substitute personality, of sorts. In other words, martial arts had become my life, instead of a part of my life. Suddenly, it was gone, but I was still there.

Reading Marc’s book led me to question my own worldview. His contempt for the “Well, all ya gotta do is apply Wun Hung Lo’s ‘peacock sodomizes rabid squirrel’ technique, and all yer troubles are over” school of thought was both refreshing and intriguing.

Uh, dude? I hate to break it to you, but you ain’t a peacock. You’re a human being. Are you too fuckin’ stupid to know a rabid squirrel when you see one, and to ‘grok’ that they’re a thunderin’ herd of bad news?

At the time, I was. I’d immersed myself so deeply in the “Way”; I’d jettisoned my old, “undesirable” personality entirely (or so I thought), and all the experiences that had contributed to its formation. Bluntly put: I had “thrown the baby out with the bathwater,” and was in denial, to boot.

I’ve often jokingly referred to that period of my life as the “tofu-eatin’, Buddhist hippie” days, but it really isn’t that funny. It’s easy to be such a critter whilst one is hale, hearty, and has few worries. When the shit hits the fan, though, it’s far more difficult.

When I was reasonably certain I could strike/kick/throw 90% of the “competition” into next Tuesday, it was easy to be a big-hearted, magnanimous, merciful “warrior” motherfucker. When, on the other hand, I was abruptly reduced to being just another thirty-something barfly with a severe limp and a blade in his pocket, it occurred to me that my lifestyle and outlook were in need of a serious overhaul.

In order to endure that particular trial, I had to reach deep inside and drag up resources I’d buried within my “inner outhouse,” if you will. It was ugly, nasty, dirty work, but in undertaking it, I came to understand that my “inner thug” – the kid who’d gotten into fights solely for the adrenaline rush; used drugs; been arrested for drunken, disorderly conduct, etc., was still very much a part of me. I hadn’t banished “Mr. Monster” (as I call him) at all. On the contrary: I’d merely denied his existence – and probably strengthened him, in the process, as “that which is neglected grows in darkness and silence.”

Marc’s books shone a light into the darkness and shattered the silence with an off-color Border Ballad or two, as well – and they couldn’t have done so at a more appropriate time. He doesn’t share my religious convictions, but his motto, “It depends…” reminded me of Ecclesiastes 3, I John, the Tao Teh Ching, and the Stoics.

Here was a guy who not only understood the notion that “the sword that takes life also gives life”; but that nine times out of ten, one needn’t even so much as draw it. Like NLP, Marc’s approach to conflict was one of increasing one’s options – through identifying the seeds of a nasty situation before they bore their bitter fruit.

DeBecker’s The Gift of Fear does likewise, but differently.

In the seven or eight years I’ve known him, MacYoung has become one of my dearest friends; an advisor, teacher, confidant, and pillar of support, a Brother who’s readily, willingly – and quite ably – walked beside me as I’ve trod some of life’s darker and rockier roads.

I don’t know DeBecker from Adam.

When first I read Marc MacYoung’s books, the experience was like unto seeing a bright light shone into a dark, cobwebbed corner – and I responded accordingly.

“Holy shit! So I’m not the only one who’s noticed these thangs!” I howled – and my Doberman-mutt hid herself beneath the bed.

My odd behavior notwithstanding, Marc had bypassed the theoretical/clinical “bullshit highway” entirely – noting that the “map” should never be confused with the territory, all the while – and was speaking the unique language of those who are all-too-intimately acquainted with violence.

DeBecker speaks a slightly different dialect of the same language – but he speaks it fluently and, at times, eloquently. He’s “been there, done that, got the T-shirt,” as nearly as I can tell, and whereas his deterministic “profiling” approach ignores the outlaw loner’s “Always allow 1% for unknown variables” attitude; relegates Socrates’ distinction between “good” and “evil” men to the shitter, and has put innocent men (some, of my acquaintance) behind bars via the reduction of presumption of innocence to a statitstical probability, he’s right -- most of the time.

It’s worth reading.

G’night and God bless.

Latest Reading

Being a bookworm is a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it. And if anyone's underemployed ass is eminently overqualified to perform such dirty jobs, that underemployed ass is mine, to be sure.

Seein' as it's New Year's Eve (and as I bet Delbert "Powder Burns" Mooney twenty bucks that even if the temperature goes below 32 degrees, my pee will not, in fact, freeze in the time required for it to reach the windshield of an oncoming MARTA bus from a freeway overpass), I really haven't the time to review 'em.

I may do just that in the future, but for now, suffice to say that these suckers is good readin'.

Being the weirdo I am, it's not at all uncommon for me to read a dozen or more books simultaneously: one in the kitchen; one in the upstairs study; one in the den; one in the bedroom; one in the John; one in the office/workroom; one in the basement study; one in the car; one or two in my vest pockets, to read on my lunch break at work, etc. That, for the record, is why the list is as long as it is.

Mind you, Gentle Reader, they vary wildly in overall quality, but I've managed to glean something of value from each and every one of 'em. Otherwise, I wouldn't be mentioning 'em. A few are "light" reading, to be sure; but just as many are considered classics, and with good reason.

If you'll pardon the digression, Gentle Reader, I'd like to make an off-the-cuff confession/observation or two.
I'm reading/have just read a few of the following titles for the first time. Quite a few of them, though, were required reading in high school or college. Perhaps it's just me, but I've noticed that when one is required to read a certain book in order to complete this or that course, doing so becomes an onerous chore, regardless of the book's content.

It becomes a race against time, a race in which one must rip through the book (as often as not, during late-night "cramming" sessions), rote-memorize enough of its content to regurgitate convincingly in quizzes, exams, or critiques; and then forget what one has read, in order to repeat the process when receiving one's next assignment.

When the book in question becomes the topic of conversation in so-called "adult" life, one finds oneself reflexively mumbling, "Oh yeah, that one. I had to read it in Ms. Halitosis's Lit class/Professor Andropov's Poli-Sci 102, but that was years ago."

It's entirely possible that I'm a closet anarchist by nature, and I'll admit it. Hell, the more I learn about my ancestors, the more I wonder if there isn't some manner of "anti-authority gene" making mitochondrial mischief with some of us -- myself included. This, however, is pure conjecture on my part. What I can say for certain is that reading is far more enjoyable a pastime when I'm not coerced into doing it, and when the choice of reading material is my own.

I've been this way for as long as I care to remember, and -- did I not enjoy being this way -- would despair of ever changing. In all probability, this explains why, in the fifth grade, I had anthologies of British and Irish ghost stories and folktales; collections of Greek, Norse and Celtic myth and legend; and various and sundry tomes on American Indians hidden behind whatever textbook I was supposed to be reading at the time.

End digression. The list follows.

Letters From the Earth -- Mark Twain
Meditations -- Marcus Aurelius
The City of God -- St. Augustine
The Praise of Folly -- Desiderius Erasmus
Propaganda -- Jacques Ellul
The Art of War -- Niccolo Machiavelli
On War -- Karl von Clausewitz
A Book of Five Rings -- Musashi Miyamoto
The Red Badge of Courage and Other Stories -- Stephen Crane
Mind Penteration -- Haha Lung
The Ideological Imagination -- Louis Halle
Constitutional Democracy in America: A Reappraisal -- Charles Dunn
The Communist Manifesto -- Karl Marx
Mein Kampf -- Adolf Hitler
The Ominous Parallels -- Leonard Peikoff

"Knowledge is Good"

It’s occurred to me that some of this blog’s poor, long-suffering readers may ask themselves, “What kind of stuff does this crazy bastard read, anyway?” I’d love nothing more than to say, “Nothin’ but X-Men comics, Penthouse letters, tea leaves, and the label in my drawers!” (I only own one pair, after all...) but that would be utter bullshit.

Unfortunately, the events of the last few months haven’t allowed me to kick back with a good book nearly as often as I’d like. Even so, I’ve managed to catch the odd break between deaths and get some reading done.

For all that I devoured it voraciously during my teens and early twenties, I honestly don’t much care for fiction these days. Certainly, there are some exceptions to the general rule, but overall, I find reality far more interesting -- and twisted. Most of my reading material consists of how-to, history, philosophy, etc. Occasionally, though, I’ll crack open the cover of a work of fiction (especially 19th century fiction, which I adore) or poetry. As a good book should be read over and over again (no idea worth entertaining can be fully absorbed in one sitting, in my not-so-humble opinion), I’ve also blown the dust from the covers of some of the moldering tomes on my dozen or so bookshelves, and given myself a refresher course on a few subjects.

What follows is a short list of what I’ve been feeding my fevered brain over the last few months. Needless to say, I recommend all of ‘em. Anyone interested in reading any of them should probably act quickly, though. Whether the neocons or the pinkos win the next election, most of ‘em will probably be illegal soon.

Where the Right Went Wrong by Patrick J. Buchanan
The Scotch-Irish: A Social History by James G. Leyburn
The Iliad by Homer
Tom Brown’s School Days by Thomas Hughes
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Other Stories by Washington Irving
The Lady of the Lake and Other Poems by Sir Walter Scott
The Waste Land and Other Writings by T.S. Eliot
Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry by William Butler Yeats
Pool Cues, Beer Bottles, and Baseball Bats: Animal's Guide to Improvised Weapons for Self-Defense and Survival by Marc “Animal” MacYoung
Wright’s Family Medicine by Dr. Isaac Wright
Ireland: A Concise History from the Twelfth Century to the Present Day by Paul Johnson
Blue Mountain Buckskin: A Working Manual by Jim Riggs
Going Primitive: A Guide for Replacing Your Modern Camping Gear With Period Alternatives by F.L. Watkins
The Scottish 100: Portraits of History’s Most Influential Scots by Duncan A. Bruce
Street E&E: Evading, Escaping, and Other Ways to Save Your Ass When Things Get Ugly by Marc “Animal” MacYoung
TRADOC DCSINT Handbook No.2, Arab Cultural Awareness: 58 Fact Sheets (Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff for Intelligence, US Army Training and Doctrine Command)
Touched With Fire: Manic Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament by Kay Redfield Jameson
A History of Scotland by J.D. Mackie
Captured by the Indians: 15 Firsthand Accounts, 1750-1870 edited by Frederick Drimmer
Creeks and Seminoles by J. Leitch Wright, Jr.
American Cookery (1796) by Amelia Simmons (Dover reprint)
The Virginia Housewife Or, Methodical Cook (1824) by Mary Randolph (Dover reprint)
A History of Pirates: Blood and Thunder on the High Seas by Nigel Cawthorne
The Dangerous Book for Boys by Conn Iggulden and Hal Iggulden
The Best Short Stories of Mark Twain by Mark Twain
The Professor and the Madman: A Tale of Murder, Insanity, and the Making of the Oxford English Dictionary by Simon Winchester*
Guerilla Warfare by Ernesto “Che” Guevara
The Tribes of Britain: Who Are We? And Where Do We Come From? By David Miles
Pirates: Fact and Fiction by David Cordingly and John Falconer
The Freedom Outlaw’s Handbook by Claire Wolf
FM 27-10 The Law of Land Warfare (Department of the Army)**
The New Farmer’s Market: Farm-Fresh Ideas for Producers, Managers & Communities by Vance Corum, Marcie Rosenzweig and Eric Gibson
How the Scots Invented the Modern World by Arthur Herman
Sovereign Legacy: An Historical Guide to the British Monarchy by William Seymour
The Anti-Federalist Papers And The Constitutional Convention Debates edited by Ralph Ketcham
The Other Side of the Mountain: Mujahideen Tactics in the Soviet-Afghan War by Ali Ahmad Jalali and Lester W. Grau*
Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking by Malcolm Gladwell
William Wallace by Andrew Fisher
From Chivalry to Terrorism: War and the Changing Nature of Masculinity by Leo Braudy
Narrative of a Revolutionary Soldier by Jospeh Plumb Martin

This list isn't quite as eclectic or extensive as a typical year's reading, but -- again -- this year has been rough as a cob...

*Thanks to Bro Aaron for plying me with these two.
** Don’t waste your breath discussing the so-called “war on terror” with any fucktard who hasn’t read this one.

They Hate Us for Our Freedom

Yes, it's true. Our own government hates us for our freedom. That's the only possible explanation for the patriot act. I was pondering this and other matters this very morning, after having arisen rather early. Enough about the combined effects of priapism and satyriasis, though. Today, I'd like to discuss books.

A few posts ago, I made a few suggestions regarding appropriate reading material for children. As I was carefully placing teeny, tiny, floating mines in the commode (that friggerty Tidy Bowl Man’s ass is mine, lemme tell ya!) and tossing shuriken and Irish darts at an enlarged photo of a certain person, taken some years ago – interesting that when worn by the right person, the effect of the very sight of a pink sweater upon me can be identical to that of red rag upon a bull -- it occurred to me that perhaps I should recommend a bit of reading material for adults, as well.

Well, here goes.

I picked this one up at a gun show back in ’05 and still refer to it from time to time. It's called The Freedom Outlaw's Handbook: 179 Things to Do Until the Revolution, by Claire Wolfe.

Since the publisher, Loompanics Unlimited, went tits-up some time ago, you’ll probably have to ferret this one out on Amazon or at a gun show. The title is self-explanatory, for all that I think Ms. Wolfe is a tad overoptimistic, insofar as expecting a revolution of any sort in the foreseeable future is concerned.

TFOHAB is a post-9-11, expanded and updated version of Wolfe’s underground classic, 101 Things to Do Until the Revolution, aimed those of us who still have a pre-911 mindset. As 1776 preceded 9-11 by quite some times, I’ll cop to having just such a mindset, and would recommend the book to the few remaining, like-minded patriots in this country.

Divided into six chapters (“Whew! Some Things You Can Quit Wasting Your Time On”; “Better Yet: Active Non-cooperation With Tyrants”; “The Ground You Stand On: Self-Reliance”; “Way Better Than Voting: Agitation for Outlaws”; “Way Better Than Agitation: Monkeywrenching”; and “If It Comes Down to That: Someday”), TFOHB, as the subtitle claims, contains 179 suggestions for resisting tyranny. A few of ‘em are, admittedly, somewhat dated. Damn near all of’ ‘em are sure to see the brave soul who attempts ‘em branded a “terrorist,” as well. Not that this should worry anyone overmuch. These days, after all, one need only be suspected of “terrorist” tendencies to be treated as one. To put things into perspective: under the sickeningly misnamed “patriot act,” our own country’s Founding Fathers would have been considered terrorists, as would the “Regulators” of 1768-71, the French Resistance, the embattled Jews of the Warsaw Ghetto, Burma’s Karen, Kachin, and Shan ethnic minorities; and the Nicaraguan Contras of the 1980s, among others. So do our Kurdish “allies” in Mesopotamia, for the record, but apparently, some terrorists are more “terroristic” than others. Gotta love hypocrisy…

As, in this day and age, the term “terrorist” is simply another meaningless smear -- rather like “extremist,” “racist,” or, in ages past, “barbarian” – being branded one is more of a practical than a moral concern. There’s little sense in becoming too keyed-up over an insult, after all. The kind of person who worries about such things probably shouldn’t read books of this sort anyway.

For the rest of us, though, it’s a goldmine of snarky little tricks, calculated to drive “the Man” batshit. Along with these suggestions for practical non-cooperation and outright resistance are included quite a number of “inspirational” quotes, as rather pointed reminders of what we Americans have thrown away through apathy, greed and fear – each a stinging rebuke to this “land of the freeloaders and the home of the slaves.”

Once you stop fearing the government, the government fears you.
– Robert D. Graham

If you love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude greater than the animating contest of freedom, go home from us in peace. We seek not your counsel, nor your arms. Crouch down and lick the hand that feeds you. May your chains set lightly upon you; and may posterity forget that you were our countrymen.
-- SamAdams

The state calls its own violence law, but that of the individual, crime.
-- Max Stirner

What sets this book apart from others of its kind, however (not that there are many of those in this day and age, mind you -- unfortunately, we seem to be stuck with and endless stream of trite shite from the Limbaughs and Coulters of the world, wherein it is explained to us poor, drooling retardates, why it's hunky dory to surrender our liberty to neocons, but not to liberals) is Wolfe & Co.’s utter contempt for the ignorant morons who run the country, and the mindless sheep who blindly heap adulation upon them. Here’s an example:

We all know how afraid politicians are of terrorists. It was these same frightened politicians who (without the authority of the Constitution) recently passed legislation that makes certain that all new cars manufactured in the U.S. will be equipped with airbags. What the politicians (apparently) don’t know is that the active ingredient in airbags is sodium azide. Sodium azide, when mixed with any soluble salt of lead, forms lead azide – the shock-sensitive primer explosive used in bombs since WWII began. Making airbags available at all is practically an invitation to terrorists to make cheap, and very easily constructed, bombs. There is no small irony in the fact that the same politicians who are so afraid of terrorists are passing laws that (in effect) make possession of terrorist raw materials mandatory. (Pp 179-80)

This, Gentle Reader, is what happens when we pass laws as a knee-jerk reaction to our own panic.

Or, from page 13:

Some say we should respect the office – like that of the presidency – even if we don’t respect the individual in it. Bullshit. The office doesn’t exist aside from the individual. The office is only as worthy as the lowest oaf who plants his or her ass on its chair.

My sentiments, exactly.

Among other of Wolfe’s more interesting and entertaining suggestions, and challenges to mental stagnation, we find:

3. Don’t give in to the fear

Fear is the most potent weapon of power-mongers. They spook us with some threat – which may be real or illusory. Then they promise to save us from it – as long as we just give up a few more billion dollars, a few rights, a little of our privacy, a lot of our independence, and ultimately all of our freedom.

12. Don’t get too hung up on financial security

If government has become the modern world’s religion, then security has become our god. We demand not only national security (whatever that may be), but every possible form of persona security, from protection against chickenpox to bailouts of crooked or inefficient businesses to programs that steal money from the young in order to protect us in our old age.

17. Don’t get all goo-goo about cops and soldiers.

We should be very, very suspicious any time any profession gets surrounded with a halo. Any profession. It’s a sure sign our eyes and minds are being directed away from reality. NOT all soldiers are sacrificing themselves so we can have freedom. NOT all teachers are saints toiling away for the sake of the children. NOT all mothers are June Cleaver reborn. And above all, NOT all cops…not even most cops…not even some teeny, tiny percentage of cops…are “heroes”

71. Instead of television

If you find yourself – or worse, your kids! – sitting like a toadstool in front of The Box, consider switching it off and doing any of the following simple but independent and *actively engaged things you can do at home:

(A list of suggested activities follows.)

There are plenty more, to be sure, so get out and locate a copy. Beyond suggestions for causing the “powers that be” a bit of well-deserved grief, however (a worthy pursuit, in and of itself), the main value of The Freedom Outlaw’s Handbook lies in the fact that ultimately, it’s about rejecting “groupthink” yanking off the government, corporate, and media blinders that seem to descend upon us all at one time or another, and reclaiming one’s own mind.

In the past, I’ve jokingly referred to it as “the real-life Matrix, for dummies,” and I find that it still holds true. All in all, it’s a worthwhile addition to any freedom-lover’s library, and I recommend it highly.

If nothing else, it’ll make for interesting reading while you’re awaiting that luxury suite in the Hanoi Hilton – uh, I mean “Guantanamo.” Yeah, that’s the ticket…

Soapbox Time: Books for Boys

I’d intended to introduce this category with a great deal more fanfare. Honest Injun, I had. I’d begun not one, but two bitter, profanity-laced, foaming-at-the-mouth polemics against the American system of public education, with particular emphasis upon its mentally, morally and spiritually crippling effects upon our nation’s boys. I had a virtual wheelbarrow of verbal brickbats loaded and ready to heave at various and sundry well-deserving targets.

I had quivers aplenty, bristling with shafts of mockery and contempt, and ready to be loosed at a moment’s notice. I’d planned to excoriate pseudo-conservative George W. Bush, not only for spitting in Reagan’s face by putting us back into UNESCO, but for his despicable “No child left behind” scheme.

That, by the way, is far too tempting a target to ignore. Permit me a digression if you’ll be so kind, Gentle Reader. When last I checked, the typical conservative wanted less government in his life, not more. Perhaps times have changed (chuckle…), but this is apparently no longer the case. Enter “Monkey Boy” and his neocon cronies, bent upon one of the most despicable acts of intellectual vandalism (dare one refer to it as “Kristolnacht?”) in our nation’s troubled history: “No child left behind.”

The idea of entrusting a child’s education to the state is hardly a new one. The Prussians were rather fond of the practice. Ditto those wacky, fun-loving Soviets and Nazis. There’s a very good reason for this, of course. As the Chinese proverb runs: “Whose bread I eat, his song I sing.” Rendered in plain English: When a child’s education is left to the state, said child will learn whatever the state chooses to teach him. As all governments have agendas, the agenda of any given government – and the values and goals it’s agenda is calculated to achieve – will be passed along to the children it is permitted to “educate” (and I employ the term very, very loosely). “He who has the youth has the future,” as the kraut with the funny moustache observed some decades ago.

This, by the way, is why “No child left alone,” as I call it, is such a nightmare waiting to happen. Of far greater importance than the bogus “War on Terror” is the so-called “culture war” that, of late, has received little mention. Not long ago, as a matter of fact, one typically vacuous neocon wag observed: “The culture war is over, and we lost,” as if the matter had been settled once and for all.

Wrong, shit-for-brains. That manner of cut-and-run, appeasement-oriented mentality is yet another slash in the “death of a thousand cuts” from which this country is perishing piecemeal. As a typical neocon’s intellectual capacity is roughly on par with that of a pinworm, one hardly expects any great measure of thought – let along forethought – from them. “Hannitized,” after all, rhymes with “sanitized” for a very good reason: The poor fool who willingly enters such a state of voluntary idiocy effectively renders his own mind tabula rasa once again, leaving it a blank slate upon which neocon propaganda may be writ large – if in Crayola crayon. Unfortunately, these “blank slates,” owing to this very lack of mental acuity, fail to realize that the social machinery they’ve chosen to build will function every bit as well for the commies (uh, I mean democrats – yeah, that’s it…) when they assume power in ’09, as it does for them.

So much for that nasty topic. I would take a few potshots at so-called “faith-based initiatives,” (read: an insidious method of luring parochial schools into toeing the government line), but the demands of brevity preclude doing so. On to the topic at hand, then.

As it’s simply too late to hope for any meaningful – however desperately needed – changes to be made to our disgraceful system of public education, the only solution, as I see it, is for parents to take responsibility for educating their own children. Private schools and home schooling would be my first choices, but these options aren’t open to everyone, for various reasons. The solution for the parent who is troubled by the garbage his progeny are having shoved down their throats in our once-great nation’s indoctrination camps, therefore, is to counteract the propaganda they absorb for six to eight hours a day.

This where my new category comes into play. Even though I’ve entitled it Books for Boys; girls – and even a few adults – could almost certainly benefit from reading the selections I’ll recommend. I’d advise, as a matter of fact, that adults read these books along with their children. After all, one can’t counteract the lies his children are taught, if one can’t identify them oneself.

My recommendations are based on the assumption that the child to whom they’ll be provided can already read. Should this not be the case, I’d counsel purchasing a good, phonics-based course and getting started immediately. There is, after all, no time like the present. My reasons for insisting upon the phonic method are too numerous to list here, so I’d point the interested reader to Rudolf Flesch’s Why Johnny Can’t Read, And What You Can Do About It.

Aside from the fact that overall literacy rates have declined since the introduction of the “Whole Word” or “Look-Say” reading method (English orthography, as it happens, simply doesn’t work that way), which fact fairly screams for its immediate discontinuation -- a thorough grounding in phonics will prove invaluable to older children when they are introduced to phonology, morphology, etymology, and other, more advanced stages of learning the language.

Once the foundation has been poured, as it were, one can begin laying bricks.

The first “brick” I’ll lay is certain to raise eyebrows and blood pressure among the irreligious. It is, of course, the Bible. I prefer the King James Version, for the language. I’ve been told that more accurate translations exist (the New International, for example), but I find them woefully lacking when compared to the poetic power of the KJV.

Whether or not one is a Christian, the Judeo-Christian tradition is undeniably one of the pillars upon which Western civilization rests. If one doesn’t understand Christianity, one’s understanding of Western culture is consequently incomplete. On a personal and less academic note, I’ll also add that to my mind, Proverbs is the best guide to professional ethics I’ve ever read. (All ages.)

The next recommendation is an atlas. Yes, an atlas. The exact brand doesn’t matter. An inexpensive, paperback copy is perfectly acceptable, as far as I’m concerned. It doesn’t a whit of good for a child to be told that such-and-such an event occurred at such-and-such a time and place, if he/she can’t find that place on a map. Aside from illiteracy and historical ignorance, unfamiliarity with geography is a leading cause of ignorance and wrong-headedness in this country.

I’m often appalled by the number of adults I meet, who can’t identify Canada, or even neighboring states on an unlabeled map. There is simply no excuse for this kind of ignorant provinciality, and a ten-dollar atlas is an instant cure. Do your child a favor and buy him one. If nothing else, he’ll be slightly better informed those who can’t tell “the difference between Iraq and Iran.” (All ages.)

For younger children, those just learning to read, one can hardly do better than to purchase a reprinted set of McGuffy’s Readers. One should be prepared to take a hard shot to the ol’ ego, though. The realization that nineteenth century children were capable of handling the selections found in McGuffy’s is guaranteed to leave many a modern adult red-faced with shame. And it should. (Ages 4-10.)

I’ve made this recommendation in an earlier post, and I’ll stick to it: A dictionary. In this case, I’d advise going “whole hog.” Don’t skimp. Those pocket dictionaries one finds in supermarkets simply don’t cut the mustard. There’s no need to break the bank by splurging for a full set of The Oxford English Dictionary, of course, but a good, comprehensive, etymological dictionary is a necessity. I prefer the Oxford Reference Dictionary, The American Heritage Dictionary, and Webster’s. (All ages.)

Next up is a thesaurus. I’m partial to Roget’s, but others are acceptable, as well. An enhanced vocabulary allows one to entertain and articulate increasingly complex concepts, and to express and understand nuances of meaning that would be lost upon the less educated. Needless to say, this leads not only to a deeper understanding of the printed page, but also to more effective communication overall.

And I suppose that’s all the communicating I’ll do, for now. More later.

Armchair Generalship

Every now and then, I’ll stumble across a book that’s actually worth reading. Needless to say, the steadily deteriorating quality of most of the bullshit on the mass market ensures that this happens roughly as often as certain foreigners use toothpaste and deodorant.

Fortunately, I have some very good (and very literate) friends, friends who often turn me on to books I might otherwise have overlooked. One such friend is a regular Green Hell reader, who also happens to serve in our country’s armed forces. This Bro of mine is not only highly intelligent, but an extremely voracious reader, as well. The topics of our telephone conversations cover everything from survival to history, religion and world politics.

Not long ago, I received a package from this most admirable of young men. Being very curious, I opened it and found a selection of books. All of them have thus far proven interesting, but the most fascinating title of all was The Other Side of the Mountain: Mujahideen Tactics in the Soviet-Afghan War, by Ali Ahmad Jalali and Lester W. Grau of the Foreign Military Studies Office at Fort Leavenworth.

Published by the Marine Corps Studies and Analysis Division, the book is a real-life, no-bullshit look at the realities of low-intensity conflict. (That’s a fancy way of saying “guerilla warfare,” for the benefit of any booger eatin’ feebs who may not be familiar with the term.) It is divided into several chapters, each covering a certain aspect of asymmetric warfare, i.e., ambushes, raids, shelling attacks, urban combat, etc. Each chapter consists of several vignettes, firsthand accounts by the Mujahideen who did the actual fighting against the Soviet invaders.

I’m recommending this book for several reasons.

First and foremost, we’re at war with the Taliban in Afghanistan. For all that the “bait and switch” game -- a game that suckered us into sending troops after Saddam Hussein before finishing the job in Afghanistan was finished – has put Iraq in the spotlight, we must never forget that it was Afghanistan that harbored Osama bin Laden, the architect of the September 11 attacks.

Six years after said attacks were launched, the job in Afghanistan still isn’t finished, Osama still hasn’t been captured and killed (perhaps, in a future post, I’ll mention why it is absolutely imperative that this be accomplished), and in order to rectify this particular situation, we’ll be fighting Afghanis.

Ever heard the saying “Know your enemy?”

If not, please do the rest of the world a favor and leap in front of a speeding Peterbilt.

Next, I’ll mention that while the Afghanis were certainly right to defend themselves against foreign invaders (all men have the absolute right to defend themselves against tyrants, criminals and invaders, as far as I’m concerned), al Qaeda and the Taliban were, to a great extent, an unintended consequence of foreign meddling in the conflict.

The core of al Qaeda was the Maqtab al Khidimat resistance group, which operated with CIA assistance, and actually had recruiting facilities in New York and Detroit.

One of the leaders of Maqtab al Khidimat?

Osama bin Laden.

Foreign assistance during the war was also largely responsible for the rise of groups like the Taliban. As the book states: “The Pakistani authorities favored the most fundamentalist groups and rewarded them accordingly. This aid distribution gave the Afghan religious leaders unprecedented power in the conduct of the war. It also undermined the traditional authority of the tribal and village leaders.”

There’s an old saying down here: “If you sleep with pigs, you’ll wake up covered in shit.” This pithy proverb means, in essence, that one must be very mindful of the company he keeps. It’s a lesson we should have learned after World War I, but apparently still haven’t learned. Until we do learn it, we’ll need books like this to help us “wash off,” as it were.

There’s been a good bit of bitching about “terror” tactics of late, for all that they’ve been a staple feature of warfare for as long as war has been waged. This is another reason I recommend this book. On the whole, Americans are a fat, lazy, and cowardly people. Oh, they’ll wave flags and put bumper stickers on their trucks, but the ugly reality of war is something they’d rather avoid. I suppose Hollywood bullshit is far more appealing, but it has nothing to do with the reality of missing limbs, charred flesh, and bloated, malodorous corpses strewn around like toys on a sloppy child's bedroom floor.

Let’s face the facts, boys and girls: there’s no way to “prettify” war. In order to fight one – let alone win it – it must be accepted that the enemy will commit atrocities, and so will one’s own forces. Warriors -- the side they choose being largely irrelevant -- are subjected to pressures very few of us can even imagine. Hate breeds hate. Cruelty breeds cruelty. And savagery breeds savagery. Warriors are subjected to all the above, and occasionally respond in kind. It’s just the nature of the beast we call war.

I don't share Sean Hannity's chagrin at hearing John Kerry accusing our troops of "terrorizing women and children in the dead of night." In order to survive, they must do just that, and I don't fault them for it.

Neither, however, do I fault the "terrorists" this approach might create. Modern "total war" is every bit as ugly as a home invasion or barroom brawl, and requires the same mindset and tactics. As Newton has assured us: "For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction."

This maxim holds every bit as true in the realms of politics and human psychology as in physics.

Allow me the luxury of a digression. I’m going to move my focus slightly westward, to the Persian Gulf. Does any reasonable man honestly believe that every Iraqi insurgent is a so-called “terrorist”? If so, I’d invite him to imagine the following scenario:

You’re a working stiff, with a family to feed. Your government taxes the shit out of you, wastes your money, and keeps you poor, illiterate, and ignorant. (No, wait! – That sounds too much like our own government…) uh, well, let’s stick with it anyway. One day, bombs start falling, and somewhere between 30,000 and 100,000 of your countrymen – including members of your own family – are killed. Next, a bunch of foreign soldiers, soldiers who look different from you, speak a different language, and have completely different values, are occupying your country.

Would you or would you not take up arms and avenge your dead? If your answer is “No,” go read something else. You’ll never be able to understand what we’re up against, or how serious the situation over there really is.

If your answer is “yes,” read on. You’re my kind of guy. Let’s continue with our scenario:

You and I are from the same neighborhood. These foreigners have well and rightly “shocked and awed” -- say-- your father and my brother into the afterlife. Our family honor – no, the entire culture in which we were raised – demands that we get payback, and that’s just what we’re going to do.

The enemy has armored vehicles, sophisticated communication equipment, etc. All we have is what we can scavenge for ourselves.

Now the idea here is not to die – not that we have much for which to live, anymore – but, in Patton’s words, “to make the other poor son of a bitch die for his country.” Considering the imbalance, we’ll have no choice but to resort to unconventional tactics, i.e., roadside bombs, improvised explosive and incendiary devices, sniping, booby-trapping, etc. We’re also going to kill any of our countrymen we catch aiding and abetting/collaborating with those responsible for our loss.

So I ask you: Are we “terrorists”?

Of course not. We’re men with a well-justified grudge.

And so, undoubtedly, are many Iraqi insurgents.

Until we learn to understand the nature of the enemy – why he fights, what motivates him – we haven’t a hope of “winning” over there. Considering the hopelessly tangled situation in Iraq, there are many, many enemies, each with a different motivation. I’d invite the gentle reader to have a look at chapter 2, paragraphs 4-6 of the U.S. Army’s FM 31-21 Guerilla Warfare and Special Forces Operations for futher clarification.

As so very few of my countrymen are even remotely familiar with the subject – or even with what does and doesn’t constitute a “terrorist” – I’d recommend reading the entire manual, as well as FM 27-10 The Law of Land Warfare. So essential do I consider both books; I find it impossible to have a “serious” discussion of the subject with (or have any respect for the opinions of ) anyone who hasn’t read them.

This bring us to the matter of self-righteousness and general squeamishness. Anyone who considers IED’s a “terrorist” weapon is a clueless moron. Wise up, blockheads. They’re perfectly legitimate weapons, and our forces use them, too. Don’t think so? Then please explain the purpose of TM 31-210, TM 31-201-1, FM 5-31, and 31-200-1.

Haven’t read ‘em?

Why not? There’s no excuse for it. Many of you constantly squeal, “We’re at war!” whenever anyone challenges the latest neocon assault on the Bill of Rights, and yet you have no idea of how wars are actually fought.

Well, you can educate yourselves for five bucks per manual, at any gun show or surplus store. I’d hurry up and get ‘em before Hillary is elected, though. With her in the Oval Office, and a “DemonCrap” majority in the House and Senate, I’m sure we “little people” will be forbidden to read such “dangerous” material. If a neocon is elected, private sale of such manuals will probably be banned, in order to keep them out of the hands of the “evildoers” who even now threaten to take over a nation of 300,000,000 (80,000,000 of whom are allegedly gun-owers) and impose Sharia.

Pardon the digression.

I’ll leave the last word on this particular subject to the authors of the book I’m reviewing. From page 370, then:

“Many people find such bombing attacks morally reprehensible, yet have no qualms when much larger bombs are dropped from aircraft. Neither type of bombing attack is surgical and both types kill innocent bystanders. The only real difference is in the size of the bomb and the means of delivery.”

I’m sure as hell not going to argue with them. The Marines have a pretty good reputation for knowing their business. If they can accept the fact that war is nasty business, I’ll accept it right along with ‘em. Hopefully, Joe Sixpack will catch up with us someday.

Finally, I consider this book essential reading because it illustrates just how soft, decadent, and effete this country has become, not to mention what a pack of sheep we are. I’m of the opinion that until we clean up our own act, we’ll have our asses handed to us by people who, in many ways, were more like our own ancestors than we are. I’ll grant that most Mideastern countries have far more than a dust-mote in their collective eyes, but we have a veritable lumberyard in ours.

First, let’s discuss the matter of guts. In this very country, entire towns sat by and watched as our own government murdered religious and political dissidents in cold blood. Yes, I’m referring to Ruby Ridge and Waco. As many believe both were isolated incidents, I’d recommend The Ballad of Carl Drega, by Vin Suprynowycz as an "eye-opener" of sorts.

Americans simply don’t have the guts to resist anything, let alone an enemy as determined as “the terrorists” are alleged to be. The very fact that a nation of three hundred million is sufficiently terrified of a few thousand religious fanatics to surrender its freedom in the face of one attack, illustrates this simple truth far more chillingly than ever I could hope to.

Unfortunately, Gentle Reader, the Spirit of ’76 has been exorcised from this once-great nation. I don’t think we’ll ever see another Boston Tea Party, Regulator Rebellion, or Lexington. I recommend The Other Side of the Mountain because it paints a picture of the kind of men of whom one would expect such deeds. Their religion, as far as I’m concerned, is wrong. Their worldview is wrong. Their ethical and moral stance is also largely wrong.

But they are brave, resolute men, while we are not.

From the book, again: “The DRA countered these [resistance] efforts where it could and Mujahideen began to coalesce into much smaller groups centered around rural villages. These small groups were armed with a variety of weapons from swords and flintlock muskets to British bolt-action rifles and older Soviet and Soviet-bloc weapons provided to Afghanistan over the years.” (Emphasis mine.)

Is there a single living American who, in this day and age, would take a sword or musket into battle against even a mugger armed with a throwaway .32, let alone a modern army? I didn’t think so. And yet we’re going to “end evil in our time,” as our talk show hosts assure us?

Sheeee-yit. As “wussified” as we’ve become, we won’t even end petty graft in our time.

Next (and last), I’ll mention that our over-centralized way of life (aided and abetted by the mass media and our disgraceful system of public education) has rendered us a nation of helpless, unthinking sheep. Consider the utter chaos that occurred in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Consider the panic that broke out as a result of the September 11 attacks – panic so severe and widespread, that a “shadow government,” in the words of our own Vice President, was brought into play. Consider both carefully, and then ponder this, my final quote from the book:

“Afghanistan’s ancient roots and strong ties of kinship provide an anchor against progress, but also the means to cope when the central authority has collapsed. Historically, the collapse of the central government of Afghanistan or the destruction of its standing armies has never resulted in the defeat of the nation by an invader. The people, relying on their decentralized political, economic and military potential, have always taken over the resistance against invaders.”

Can we say the same of ourselves?

The facts that we cringe like whipped dogs and surrender the liberty our forefathers so doggedly fought to secure us, when threatened by a ragtag band of foreign extremists, indicate that the answer to my question is an unequivocal “No.”

Goodnight and God Bless.

Recommended Reading

Howdy! If you want another “sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll” story or foulmouthed rant, come back later. I feel like writing about a different subject today, namely the great love of my life.

No, not the neurotic “drama queen” who nearly drove me stark, raving mad! I’m talking about gardening!

I’ve been involved in the pastime for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, my father used to put in a garden every year, and my brother and I were required to help with the work. What this meant was that Dad would plow up a patch and then go inside to watch whatever game was on TV that day, while my brother and I picked up rocks, planted the seeds, and eventually picked the vegetables, hulled the peas and beans, etc. It was essentially a sort of “on the job training,” or “learning by doing.” Frankly, it sucked at times, as there were other things I‘d rather have been doing. By the time I hit puberty, though, I already knew -- without consciously knowing -- the basics of gardening. In short, I had a very solid foundation, the product of years of first-hand experience.

During my early twenties, I was none too fond of the company for which I worked (a supermarket), so I took up the hobby again as a means of securing some sort of independence from said entity, even if the “independence” was more psychological than anything else. My first garden of my own was a small patch, perhaps 10’ x 12’. I didn’t have a tiller, so I cut the clay up with a shovel and a mattock, then broke the clods up with a hoe, and then finally reduced them to the finest state possible with a rake. It was a good bit of work, but it was satisfying in various ways. It was early spring, and my selection of crops reflected this fact; radishes, turnips, kohlrabi, and a couple varieties of cabbage. None of these is particularly difficult to grow, a fact that further influenced my choice. I hadn’t planted anything in a while, so it seemed best to adhere to the “KISS principle,” i.e., “Keep it simple, stupid.”

The following year, I was able to afford a roto-tiller, and the garden grew as a result. At the same time, I was slowly (and I do mean very slowly) moving away from the macho, “guns’n’gear” aspect of survivalism and into the more serious matters of food production, preparation, and preservation. Over the next few years, I picked up new skills with increasing speed. I started off learning to make pickles, salsa and relishes. Then it was a batch of mead or wine. Then it was blanching and freezing, then actual canning and so on and so forth. Finally, within a few years, I was able to make anything from kimchi to beef jerky. Over the last couple years, I’ve continued the process, having learned to make tomato sauce, tomato paste, yogurt, cheese, various alcoholic beverages, and jams and jellies.

As the emphasis was now on production and preservation, I began to expand my selection of crops, as well. Cabbages and their relatives, after all, aren’t exactly calorie-dense vegetables. The second year, I added summer and winter squash to the mix, as winter squash keeps well, and is a good source of carbohydrates. Fast forward to the present, at which point I garden year-round: all the aforementioned plants, plus corn, beans of various kinds, tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, onions, melons, cucumbers, culinary herbs, and assorted greens. Since 2003, I’ve gotten anything from $2000.00 to $4000.00 (retail value -- this cuts the grocery bill considerably) of food out of my patch of ground, and usually have enough to give away to friends.

In the time I’ve been doing this, I’ve amassed a fair sized library of literature on the subjects of gardening and food preservation, as well as considerable first-hand experience in the fields. There are times at which failure is actually a better teacher than success, so I’ve learned quite a bit from my own snafus, as well as those of others. On occasion, life does indeed hand one “lemons,” and on such occasions, it doesn’t hurt to be able to “turn them into lemonade,” as the saying goes. An example: I actually learned to make my own vinegar from having a batch of mead (literally) go sour. I also learned that honey vinegar has an amazing, incomparable flavor, and -- much later, unfortunately -- that the hideous, white, ropy mass that formed inside the bottles is called “mother of vinegar,” can be used to start new batches, and is esteemed as a nutritional supplement and tonic of sorts in many parts of the world.

In the years I’ve been pursuing these odd hobbies, I’ve encountered a good bit of printed garbage, and seen the none-too-sensible ambitions of a fair number of people “crash and burn”. Whenever I see this, I’m reminded of the wreckage along the “Back to the Land Highway” of the 60’s and 70’s. People with unrealistic and often idealistic fantasies about getting “closer to nature” and living in “self-sufficiency heaven” would pack up and head for the hills, only to fail within a year and give up. No, it’s not as easy as it looks. Most of the pie-in-the-sky literature doesn’t cover things like insects and other pests, droughts, diseases, poor soil, or a host of other potential setbacks. It also fails to mention that when one sets foot upon this path, he will, of necessity, need to invest a generous amount of time (and occasionally money) in the learning process.

I’m living proof of the fact that these skills are well within the reach of ordinary mortals, but I’ve built them slowly, over the course of my adult life, and I’ve always kept my goals realistic, viewing each success as simply another brick in an ever-growing wall. The number of people I meet who won’t “start small” never ceases to amaze me, nor does their inability to perceive each bit of new knowledge as a single thread in a tapesty -- each discrete, but interwoven all the same -- or to view the learning process itself as a perpetual “work in progress.”

OK, enough preaching/editorializing on my part.

For the person who’s just starting off, is confined to a small space, or simply wants a “kitchen garden,” I can’t think of a better starting point than Mel Bartholomew’s Square Foot Gardening (1981, Rodale Press, ISBN 0-87857-341-0, $16.95 US, $ 24.95, Canadian) . The book has been in print for twenty-five years now, and with good reason. For starters, the method actually works. The first and foremost question I ask of any book I read is: “Does this stuff work, or does it simply look good in print?” In this case, the answer to the question is not merely “yes,” but rather a resounding “Oh hell yeah!”

Bartholomew is a retired engineer, and approaches the matter of gardening from an engineer’s perspective. Maximum productivity, minimum space, minimum of labor. As he’d realized that the old-fashioned row method was largely for convenience of mechanical harvesting on the commercial scale, he reasoned that a good amount of otherwise potentially productive space was going to waste. His solution was to break his garden up into a series of 4’ x 4’ blocks, further subdivided into sixteen blocks of 1’ x 1’, hence the book’s title. With a different vegetable or vegetables planted in each square foot block, he found that he could plant and harvest a large variety of vegetables, with minimal watering, weeding and other care, and little or no overproduction.

Overproduction, needless to say, is the goal of the commercial grower, or the seeker of self-reliance, but for the typical home gardener or the beginner, this method is ideal. It takes the goal of home food-production and puts it within the reach of anyone who cares to practice it, in an easy-to follow system based upon readily achievable goals.

For the person who wants to take the next step, a good idea of what is required for self sufficiency can be found in M.G. Kains’s Five Acres and Independence(Dover, ISBN 0-486-20974-1, $8.95 US, $13.50 Can.). Originally written during the Depression, this book was aimed at the person who’d become sick of the “booms” and “busts” of the “paper” economy, and wanted to remove himself from the system, providing for his own material security in the process.

It’s an old book, but probably the “granddaddy” of them all. It’s an interesting read not only for the information it contains, but as a study of how things were done in an earlier time, before the technology in the field reached its present level. The modern reader could do far worse than to purchase and peruse a copy.

Since there’s no sense in having one’s efforts go to waste when planting, pest control is a matter of great concern to every gardener, whatever the scale upon which he operates. Given the modern emphasis on the environment, many are seeking alternative methods of pest control and soil improvement; methods whose environmental impact is negligible or even positive.

Among these methods is companion planting. While not an exact science, and far from the panacea some proponents of “organic” gardening claim it is, personal experience has shown me that there is some truth to the notion that certain plants set out together will have mutually beneficial effects. Basil, for example, does improve the flavor of tomatos, for whatever odd reason. A planting of white radishes this year kept the otherwise nightmarish infestation of cucumber beetles from harming my summer squash, and that chrysanthemums and marigolds will do wonders to keep garden patches pest-free.

A very good introduction to the subject of companion planting is Louise Riotte’s Carrots Love Tomatoes (Storey Publishing, ISBN 1-58017-027-7, $14.95 US, $21.95 Can.). The book covers companion planting for herbs, vegetables, trees, grasses, ornamentals and even wild plants. There are also sections on garden planning, soil improvement, and the identification of poisonous plants. The late Mrs. Riotte (1909-1998) was no academic, but rather an “oldtimer” with a lifetime of empirical observation under her belt, so her book is light on science and heavy on “folksiness.” The information between its covers, though, hardly suffers from these facts. I recommend this one highly.

Last, but far from least, we have yet another Storey publication: Storey’s Basic Country Skills: A Practical Guide to Self-Reliance. (John and Martha Storey, Storey Publishing, ISBN 1-58017-202-4, $24.95 US, $36.95 Can.) At a whopping 8” x 11” and 564 info-dense pages, this book is a steal for the price. Divided into four parts and thirty chapters, this is one of the most impressive books in the field of self-reliance I have ever seen.

Covering everything from selecting a plot of land and saving money when having a house built to stock rearing, gardening, canning and preserving, and even butchering, this book is a pure delight to read, and one from which even experienced “do-it-yourselfers” can benefit. Far from being a starry-eyed, hippie dreamer book, this particular work spends an impressive amount of time discussing pests and diseases in both animals and plants, and provides a realistic idea of what the inexperienced trekker on the path of self-sufficiency may expect to encounter. As the reader could easily buy a dozen smaller books at ten times the price and still have roughly the same amount of information, this is another one I recommend wholeheartedly.

©2006, David J. Bean

"Uncle Billy"

"Jamison heard the band of a regiment from the XX Corps playing in the
red light, surrounded by cheering soldiers who taunted nearby civilians. One
young soldier shouted to an old man whose store was wrapped in flames: 'Did
you think of this when you hurrahed for Secession? How do you like it, hey?'"

"The Reverend Mr. Connor, a Methodist minister whose parsonage was burned,
emerged with a sick child wrapped in a blanket. A soldier seized the
blanket. 'No!', Connor said, 'he's sick'. The soldier tore off the blanket
and threw it into the fire. 'Damn you,' he said, 'If you say one more word,
I'll throw the child in after it'."

"Much of the town, at least thirty houses, went up in flames. The
Episcopal Church was burned to the ground after soldiers had removed the
organ so they could play 'the devil's tunes' on it. Calling upon the dead to
witness the fun, the pranksters dug a coffin from the graveyard, split it
open with an axe and stood it on end so its recently dead occupant could
take in the ceremony."

"There were no reports of raped white women, but black women of the city
[Columbia] suffered terribly, Simms claimed: 'The poor Negroes were
victimized by their assailants, many of them...being left in a condition
little short of death. Regiments, in successive relays, subjected scores of
these poor women to the torture of their embraces...' "

A few excerpts from my latest bit of reading, Burke Davis's Sherman's
March (Vintage, 1988; Orig. Ed. Random House 1980, ISBN 0-394-75763-7).

The book, the title of which should (one hopes) unambiguously describe its
content, contains numerous other stories of Union atrocities -- given the
sheer number, it would be impossible not to include them - but unlike other
"histories," neither demonizes nor deifies Sherman or his men.

It's an honest, hard-nosed look at the actions of the "forgotten army"
and their enemies, from the battle of Kennesaw Mountain to the capture of
Durham and the aftermath of the Confederate surrender. It's not a pretty
read, but it is quite informative, and a fairly unbiased look at the "players" in what
was undoubtedly our country's most influential drama.

Rather than present an armchair analysis, Davis lets the facts - and
the men on both sides of the conflict - speak for themselves. There is
scarcely a page in the book that does not contain a first-hand account of
the events of the march. Davis's use of first-hand sources is almost unheard
of in this day and age, and is one of the reasons I heartily recommend this
book.

The fifteen-page bibliography alone is worth the cover price.

Also noteworthy and surprising from a Southern author (Davis hails from
North Carolina), Sherman's March examines the incomptence, indecison,
corruption, ego-battles and outright silliness that plagued the Confederate
government during the last months of the war, as well as the despicable acts
committed against their own people by the Confederate rear.

I have little doubt that revisionists (who should more properly be called
"omissionists" or simply "historians" ) on both sides will find the book
infuriating, and herein lies its value.

Aside from the fact that I'm a garden-variety weirdo, a few things
prompted me to recommend this book: Recent events in Iraq; The SCV debacle
on the steps of the State Capitol Building yesterday; and Ecclesiastes 1:9
(NIV): "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun."

©2004, 2006, David J. Bean

"Dis-Steuben" Developments (Piss On "Gun Control"!) (AL)

Howdy!

While rummaging through the basement for a snorkel, fishnet stockings and
egg-beater, I found a neat book I had purchased some years ago and forgotten.

Baron von Steuben's Revolutionary War Drill Manual ( a facsimile reprint
of the 1794 edition). 1985, Dover Books, ISBN 0-486-24934-4.

In addition to being a real treat for military history buffs, the book
contains a reprint of the Militia Act of 1792, certain to enrage those who
now argue that our ancestors did not own firearms. I've been wanting to
recommend this book and provide an appropritate cite for ages, so what a
stroke of luck in finding it.

"...That every citizen so enrolled and notified shall, within six months
thereafter, provide himself with a good musket or firelock, a sufficient
bayonet and belt, two spare flints, and a knapsack, a pouch with a box
thereto to contain not less than twenty-four cartridges, suited to the bore
of his musket or firelock , each cartridge to contain a proper quantity
powder and ball; or with a good rifle, knapsack, shot pouch and and powder
horn, twenty balls suited to the bore of his rifle and a quarter of a pound
of powder..."

Emphasis mine. "Provide himself" is rather obvious. What is even more
interesting is what is evident to black-powder buffs: These weapons are not standardized
in terms of bore, which indicated to me that they were probably obtained from
local gunsmiths. I had a similar discussion with a gunsmith in Williamsburg,
VA, and he agreed, so I'm not alone in that.

Moving right along:

"That the commissioned officers shall be severally armed with a sword or
hanger, and espontoon, and that from and after five years from the passing of
this act, all muskets for arming the militia as is herein required, shall be
of bores sufficient for the balls of the eighteenth part of a pound*, and
every citizen so enrolled, and providing himself with the arms, ammunition
and accoutrements required as aforesaid, shall hold the same exempt from all
suits, distresses, executions of sales, for debt or for the payment of
taxes."

Note "five year plan" aimed at standardization, and note that militamen
received a sort of financial incentive to do so, probably to defray the cost
of "upgrading", which they still had to do themselves, even though it was
mandated by law.

Just to show that nothing really changes much, all members of the
Federal Government, as well as sailors, sea-captains, and even stage-drivers,
post officers, customs officials, ferrymen and many others were exempt,
according to section 2...

Even the dragoons were required to furnish their own mounts and
equipment, and uniforms were to be procured at the individual militiaman's
expense (section 4). The only thing to be provided by the government was
field artillery and ammunition for said. (That almost certainly would have
been prohibitively expensive for all but the very wealthiest.)

It gets really neat at the end:

"And whereas sundry corps of artillery, cavalry and infantry now exist in
several of the said states, which by the laws, customs or usages thereof,
have not been incorporated with, or subject to the general regulations of the
militia: SEC 11. Be it enacted, That such corps retain their accustomed priveleges,
subject, nevertheless, to all other duties required by this act, in lie
manner with the other militia."

Well, it seems that there was a lot more hardware floating around out
there than that schmuck who wrote Arming America was willing to admit. And
here I thought the Regulator Rebellion was fought with slingshots and empty
beer bottles...

Beyond providing the cite I so desperately needed a few months ago ,
the book provides a really interesting look at the development of Western
military thought over the centuries. It's dirt cheap, and you can probably
find it at any nearby hisorical site. (The admission you pay to enter will
also help keep the park maintained). I have seen copies at Williamsburg, VA,
Ft. Moultrie, SC, and Kennesaw Mountain, GA so I'm sure it's available
elsewhere.

For interested parties who live overseas, the publisher's address is
Dover Publications, Inc., 31 East 2nd Street, Mineola, N.Y. 11501 (U.S.A.)

©2002, 2006, David J. Bean

That Good Ol' "Mountain Dew" (AL)

"Rum by many is preferred
And brandy makes its boast.
The Dutch and English like their gin,
And ale goes well with roast.

Requests for rye in Eastern States
Quite frequently are heard,
And the hill folk of the Southlands
Make corn a favorite word..."

-- Anonymous

Rebel Redneck Dave, your crabby custodian of the Hillbilly heritage here.

While quaffing a bit of C2H5OH over at a friend's house one evening, I
stumbled across a wonderful book (among other things. I was doing quite a
bit of stumbling that night) entitled More Mountain Spirits by Joseph Earl
Dabney (1980, Bright Mountain Books, ISBN 0914875035).

This is probably an "Americans only" book, as I doubt that the "goods,"
culture or lifestyle detailed within its pages would even be known to
non-Americans, let alone of interest to them. Y'all just keep watching
"Deliverance" and "Wrong Turn," then pat yourselves of the back and tell
yourselves that you know "all about America." The rest of y'all listen up:

Now if there's one thing most of us like, besides food and ways to
distress our fellow human beings, it's booze. That's why this book is such a
wonderful resource. It's a booze "cookbook" with recipes for various
Appalachian beverages, from elderberry, muscadine and scuppernong wines to
peach beer, hard cider, and on to pumpkin gin. It also covers several
whiskey recipes (most of them different varieties of corn squeezin's, but
there are recipes for rye whiskey as well), and gives complete instructions
for building your own still (some prior experience with metalworking
necessary).

I've tasted many of these beverages (applejack, "white lightning,"
blackberry brandy, etc.) before -- none of my younger relatives, sadly,
ever has -- and can tell you that the processes in this book will do much
to silence the sneering of "connoisseurs" (snobs) who are too historically
illiterate to realize that American brewing and distilling went to hell (and
never fully recovered) during prohibition and not before. It's also
noteworthy that while our Northern bretheren were paying top dollar for
smuggled Canadian firewater, or drinking "bathtub gin," people down this way
simply continued doing what they'd always been doing since before we
parted ways with the British.

Beyond its practical content, the book provides a look into a vanishing
way of life and a culture that is unfortunately becoming extinct as welfare,
methamphetamine, and other such modern "amenities" slither into the hill
country. It's chock full of photographs of a fascinating variety of stills
(one or two of which are quite similar to a few Swedish rigs I've seen),
ranging from the ultra-simple to the fairly elaborate; old moonshiners; and
the locations of many clandestine distilleries. As the book was written over
twenty years ago, most of these old shiners are long since dead, and even
the sites would be unrecognizable today (such as one distilling site on
Clairmont Road near Peachtree Creek, which now houses subdivisions and
office parks).

Of course, no book on moonshine and moonshiners would be complete
without a few tales of the incessant game of cat-and-mouse that was played
between distillers, runners and "rev'nooers" during and after prohibition,
and this one doesn't disappoint in that respect, either.

All in all, it's a steal at $8.95, and I recommend it highly.

"They call it that ol' mountain dew,
And them that refuse it are few.
I'll shut up my mug if ye' fill up my jug
with that good ol' mountain dew"

-- Grandpa Jones

©2004, 2006, David J. Bean

Fungus Among Us!

Note: This is a slightly “cleaned up” version of a short book review I ran on the Animal List a few years ago. I’m running it here in GH because I stand by my assessment of the book. Like most Audobon Society offerings, it’s a superb piece of work, and belongs on every survivalist’s bookshelf.

****************************

Rebel Redneck Dave here, with a book to warm your hearts. It's the
National Audobon Society's Field Guide to North American Mushrooms. (Alfed
A. Knopf, Inc., ISBN: 0-394-51992-2)

The text was written by Gary H. Lincoff, President of the
North American Mycological association. The book details the
characteristics, habitat, edibility and other -uhm- "qualities" of 756 different
Species of North American fungi. It covers damn near every fungus on the continent,
except jock itch.

Unlike many field guides, this book contains full-color photographs of
each of the species it covers. Moreover, the very dangerous Death Cap and
Death Angel species are illustrated in different states of maturity.

Naturally, I’d warn against going out and picking wild mushrooms
for food or "entertainment" (yes, the book covers agarics and psilocybes, too),
but if ever you've stepped out onto the lawn and wondered "What the hell is
that?" this book probably has the answer.

For those of you who do pick and eat your own, the detailed entries on
each species contain cautions such as the names of toxic "look-alikes,"
effects of cooking - or not cooking - on edibility, etc. I give this one a
thumbs-up, and would recommend it as a valuable addition to any
home-library.

A Good Read

Man does not live by "how-to" or history alone.

Owing to the unwelcome, threatening, and sexually-charged overtures of our own Slugg, I have taken to reading fiction again, and to abandoning Lever 2000 in favor of Soap-on-a-Rope.

Yeah, so I made part of that up. So what? We're talking fiction, and ol' Slugg has been encouraging me to read fiction of late, right? So why not write a little of my own, concerning the very same basthard (the "h" is in there on purpose) who's spent so much of his free time (idle hands, as we all know, being the devil's workshop -- in Slugg's case, the devil's 25-acre, self-sustaining, fully automated 24-7-365 plant) encouraging me to read the works of men who were clearly even more neurotic than mise mo fhein?

So on to Joseph Conrad.

Before reviewing one piece of revolutionary fiction, I'll cover another. In so doing, let me admit that when it comes to Conrad, I'm biased. I kinda like the guy's work, not that any of the oldtimers would ever have suspected it. The only sentence of Virginia Woolf's writing I have ever taken seriously is that in which she opined of Conrad: "He could not write badly, one feels, to save his life."

For those of you who've come to appreciate Conrad's "Russian doll," narrative-within-a-narrative style, Under Western Eyes won’t disappoint. The story -- narrated by a Swiss professor of languages -- concerns one Kyrilo Sidorovich Razumov, an orphaned, introverted Russian who attends university through the patronage of an aristocrat. Being mistaken for something he isn’t, he becomes (involuntarily) involved with a gutter revolutionary named Haldin, whom he reports to the authorities in an act of self-preservation.

In so doing, he becomes even more deeply embroiled in the matter, at which point, he is sent to Switzerland to “observe” members of the Russian expatriate community. In sharp contrast to the hackneyed synopses of various TV programs found in ‘70s issues of TV guide, what ensues is anything but hilarity.

On the whole, Under Western Eyes is actually gloomier and more claustrophobic than Heart of Darkness, and the narrator with whom the reader becomes most familiar -- the professor of languages -- seems a far more tired, bemused, dismayed and often helpless character than the more familiar and slightly bodhisattva-esque "Marlow."

Marlow, after all, emerges from the "heart of darkness" intact, as Kurtz -- unless taken as a metaphor for the "heart of darkness" that beats within all of humanity -- dies. The substance of Marlow's narrative ends with Kurtz's death. Not so the tale of the professor of languages. He is left to watch the heart beat on. In Heart..., Conrad allows Kurtz himself to whisper "The horror. The horror!" as he dies. In Under Western Eyes, he leaves it to the reader to mutter it to himself after reading the book's final line: "Peter Ivanovich is an inspired man."

Given Conrad's background and life-experiences, it comes as little surprise that this novel -- begun in 1907 and completed in 1910 -- would be inspired by politcal events in Russia during the same period. The protagonist, one Kyrilo Sidorovitch Razumov, in the author's own words, "...is treated sympathetically. Why should he not be? He is an ordinary young man, with a healthy capacity for work and sane ambitions. He has an average conscience. If he is slightly abnormal it is only in his sensitiveness to his position. Being nobody's child, he feels rather more keenly than another would that he is a Russian -- or he is nothing. He is perfectly right in looking on all Russia as his heritage. The sanguinary futility of the crimes and the sacrifices seething in that amorphous mass envelops and crushes him."

As is nearly always the case in "serious" literature, both Razumov and the professor of languages serve as vehicles for the author's expression of his own sentiments, and it is in exactly this respect that one comes to appreciate Conrad's abilities to resist vituperation and to attempt to explain the seemingly inexplicable to an utterly foreign audience. In the professor of languages, one perceives Conrad, the Anglicized Pole, disturbed and confounded by the vagaries of Russian culture. In Razumov, one perceives both Conrad's nascent Polish patriotism, for all that in Razumov's case, his allegiance -- although hardly blind or uncritical -- lies with Russia. Conrad's dual experience as "insider" and "outsider" in the Russian Empire is split between Razumov and the professor. The former finds the experience nearly impossible to relate, while the latter finds it nearly impossible to understand.

As a purely irrelevant -- if enjoyable -- note, I'll add that the title contains a bit of a play on words. Given that it concerns the activities of various Russian expatriates in Switzerland, Under Western Eyes tweaks at the German expression "unter vier Augen" (literally: "under four eyes"), an idiom, the sense of which is perhaps best expressed by the French "entre nous" or the English "just between you, me and the fence-post." Given Conrad's horror of both the inhumanity of the Czarist regime and the promised excesses of the "revolutionary" alternative, it might just as accurately have been given the title _Under Western Noses_. Whether or not this double-pun occurred to him, I cannot say.

For those of you who've had first-hand experience with even modern, post-Soviet Russians (or, God forbid, the "old school" variety), and to whom the words 'Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose" spring immediately to mind: Don't blame me! I didn't write the book, I'm just reviewing it!

Putting aside the quasi-intellectual bullshit, I'll admit that my reasons for recommending this book are almost entirely subjective. As an Appalachian -- a member of that odd race of man studied (and accurately commented upon) by David Hackett Fischer, James Webb, and Jim Goad among others -- and a patriot of sorts, I tend to sympathize with Conrad (and his characters) on a personal level. Fischer actually commented upon our remarkably even-handed and unbiased distrust of and hostility toward damn-near-everyone/everything, noting that historically we have despised equally: our neighbors and outsiders; plantation owners and abolitionists; the Union and the Confederacy (depending upon locale and family allegiances, naturally); capitalism and communism. Given this, I tend to sympathize very deeply with the unfortunate Razumov, who loves his country and is fully aware of the abuses of the Czarist system, and yet sees little hope for meaningful reform or improvement in the opportunistic, communist/nihilist spirit of the revolutionaries among whom he finds himself.

Ah, the spirit! “Peter Ivanovich is an inspired man.” Might the gentle reader deduce from this that Conrad mocks Dostoevsky's The Possessed ? Read it and draw your own conclusions.

The most amusing and sickening feature of _Under Western Eyes_ is the accuracy with which Conrad lays bare the soul of the gutter revolutionary and monomaniacal shit-stirrer. A keen and shrewd observer of human nature, he -- in 1907 -- described perfectly the same cast of characters who took power in Russia after 1917, and whom I myself met in college in 1987. In 1997, their ilk was found in this country, "Stroke of the pen, law of the land. Neat, huh?" being their motto. In 2007, I'm sure we'll find them exporting that infinitely flawed, hideously mutilated and utterly ridiculous "god," Democracy -- “Two wolves and a sheep arguing over what to have for dinner," as one wit whose name I cannot recall has opined -- to parts unknown. To switch from Conrad to Dostoevsky -- and I am not sure why Conrad mocks him. Professional jealousy? Personal grudge? -- I'll opine that this "fire in the minds of men" (full credit to Justin Raimondo for catching the use of that particular phrase and exploring its origin) might very well be the one that ultimately burns us to powder-ash.

Thirty-eight years and counting, and I have never seen a dragon, a unicorn, or any other mythical beast, let alone a phoenix. Has any of you?

Ah, well. Some things never change.