Anyone besides me reading The New York Times series on the iEconomy?
Jesus. I feel like having a houseful of Apple products is the equivalent of standing outside a Foxconn factory and yelling, “Jump! Jump! Jump!”
If you think this iMac is unhappy, you should see the Chinese who made it.
One of my Wall Street PowerBooks was assembled in Ireland, so there was a time when Cupertino preferred Irish slaves to Chinese. And the 12-year-old Pismo on the shelf behind me came from Taiwan. But all the rest of this iStuff comes from mainland China, and the production thereof is strictly from Upton Sinclair.
The articles make it clear that Apple is not the only miscreant in the high-tech industry, and note the company’s attempts to nudge its suppliers toward creating more humane conditions for their workers.
But still, damn. Can’t say it makes me want to dash out and upgrade the old iPhone 3GS.
Leftovers — they're what's for dinner. And breakfast. And lunch. Annnnd dinner. ...
Egad. Eighteen degrees with a high of 57 forecast. That sort of thing is a shock to the system. It’s also SOP in Colorado. The trick is finding the sweet spot for a longish bike ride in that temperature range. That, and trying to stay out of the wind.
I’ve been road testing bikes again — a Pashley Clubman and a Bike Friday New World Tourist — but I feel like riding one of my own machines today, maybe the Voodoo Nakisi MonsterCrosser®.
The thing is a tank but it’s become my go-to bike for some reason. The 700×38 rubber suits pavement, gravel and single-track alike, and the low end of 22×26 means I can climb a tree if being chased by an angry reader.
I’ve been trying to stretch the food dollar lately, having bid adios to Los Zopilotes de San Diego. And it ain’t easy, because I dearly love to commit eating.
Pork chops are a fave, and the other day I pulled a pound and a half of same from the freezer to thaw. But I got to thinking that a pork chop disappears pretty damn’ fast, as in during one meal, unless you’re a nibbler, which I am not.
Leftover enchiladas, beans and posole. Much more of this sort of eating and Tom Tancredo will demand that I produce a birth certificate or be deported. Hah! Slipped some politics in there, didn't I?
So I diced a pound of the chops and made a pot of posole, which inspired the cooking of a pot of pintos with chipotle and the assembly of some sausage-and-cheddar enchiladas in red chile sauce. We’re still eating on that mess — in fact, Herself brown-bagged a small container of leftovers to work for lunch.
The remaining red sauce, beans and sausage, meanwhile, will get turned into tonight’s dinner of sausage-and-bean burritos smothered in red with a side of posole and salad.
And that half-pound of pork that didn’t make it into the posole? It was featured in last night’s nuclear kung pao pork with rice. The leftovers from that will be my lunch today.
So there you have it. How to stretch your swine into a fine line, by Chef Dog. Bon appétit.
Interesting speech. To me it sounded like, “I got your unitary executive right here, motherfuckers,” with a side of, “If you think $21 million per year of unearned income taxed at a rate of 13.9 percent sounds populist, well, I raise and call. Show me your cards, bitches. Plus I killed Osama, so fuck all y’all.”
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