What could be more authentically ethnic than a local riding a donkey?
That's the kind of innocent rural charm that allowed Abdul to steer his donkey into the midst of a NATO convoy in Afghanistan.
Wait till PETA hears about this!
Showing posts with label Peta. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Peta. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Saturday, January 19, 2013
B. Gorbet and Sons
There's a poster here at Falling Downs, framed and sitting on a music stand, for a fur store in Owen Sound.
"Gorbet's of Owen Sound, since 1919."
In 1919 Benjamin Gorbet took over a fur store in Owen Sound that belonged to a fellow named Goldheimer. The furrier trade was one of the traditional trades for European Jews.
As of a couple of weeks ago I've got a new piece of history gracing the dining room table. It's a vintage Fur Machine from Bonis Bros Fur Machinery Corp in New York City.
It's a compact bit of technology. The Bonis Brothers obviously built their stuff to last. The metal label riveted into its top tells me I've got the new "Bonis Never-Stop" model.
A label at the base of the machine tells me that the Bonis Bros Machine Corp was located at 312 Seventh Avenue, New York N.Y.
Another metal label tells me that Gorbet, or possibly Goldheimer, bought the machine from John Garde and Company Limited, Agents for Canada.
In 1980 PETA was created by a few so-called animal rights activists.
People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.
That was the beginning of the end for furriers, the fur industry, the Jews who made and sold fur coats, the First Nations and Metis trappers who had made their living on the traplines throughout the far north for 400 years...
It's all over now.
The sons of B. Gorbet watched helplessly as the business they had spent a lifetime building up collapsed into the residual value of the real estate it sat on.
Ironically, in this era of global warming and carbon footprint hysteria, the fur coat could well merit a renaissance. A good fur coat can last a lifetime. Needs to be retooled every few years just to keep up with the styling trends. That's what kept the furriers in business.
Instead, now we buy a new winter coat every couple of years. Every year or even twice a year for the children. Everything is made of synthetics that end up in the landfill.
That's progress for you.
"Gorbet's of Owen Sound, since 1919."
In 1919 Benjamin Gorbet took over a fur store in Owen Sound that belonged to a fellow named Goldheimer. The furrier trade was one of the traditional trades for European Jews.
As of a couple of weeks ago I've got a new piece of history gracing the dining room table. It's a vintage Fur Machine from Bonis Bros Fur Machinery Corp in New York City.
It's a compact bit of technology. The Bonis Brothers obviously built their stuff to last. The metal label riveted into its top tells me I've got the new "Bonis Never-Stop" model.
A label at the base of the machine tells me that the Bonis Bros Machine Corp was located at 312 Seventh Avenue, New York N.Y.
Another metal label tells me that Gorbet, or possibly Goldheimer, bought the machine from John Garde and Company Limited, Agents for Canada.
In 1980 PETA was created by a few so-called animal rights activists.
People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.
That was the beginning of the end for furriers, the fur industry, the Jews who made and sold fur coats, the First Nations and Metis trappers who had made their living on the traplines throughout the far north for 400 years...
It's all over now.
The sons of B. Gorbet watched helplessly as the business they had spent a lifetime building up collapsed into the residual value of the real estate it sat on.
Ironically, in this era of global warming and carbon footprint hysteria, the fur coat could well merit a renaissance. A good fur coat can last a lifetime. Needs to be retooled every few years just to keep up with the styling trends. That's what kept the furriers in business.
Instead, now we buy a new winter coat every couple of years. Every year or even twice a year for the children. Everything is made of synthetics that end up in the landfill.
That's progress for you.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
It's not hoarding; I just have a lot of stuff
The Farm Manager has been on my case to organize the garage. By "organize" she means clean up or clear out.
That's a tall order. Damn near overwhelming. In fact, I dare say I am overwhelmed.
What's driving this is the need to put the Mustang Fifty away for the winter. I had thought the barn, but that doesn't make sense when there's a garage right by the house. Trouble is, the garage is full.
I've been out here planning the clean up all afternoon. Eventually I had to bring the laptop out here, partly out of curiosity whether the Wi-Fi reaches this far, and partly because to plan this job properly I'm going to have to generate a couple of spreadsheets and maybe a power-point presentation.
That's my story anyway.
The garage collection has in actuality spilled out from the garage. Just for an example, the snow-blower, which will be called upon in the first blizzard of the year, has spend months sitting in the weather in front of the garage, while at least two non-operable lawnmowers take up space inside.
That simply makes no sense whatsoever.
Not that those lawnmowers need to be inoperable. Just need a little tinkering. But there are only so many hours in a day.
Then there's a very substantial NordicTrack treadmill. This is a veritable Cadillac of treadmills. This puppy will do everything short of cooking your breakfast. You can even hook it up to your computer. I have no clue why anyone would want to do that, but it's got the connection ports just in case.
It fell out of use even long before one of the hounds chewed the cord off it. I put on a new cord about a year ago. Not that anyone has used it since, but it's nice to know it works.
There's a drum kit. My 200 watt bass amp. Another hand-built amp I use with the harp. A couple of guitars... three or four if you count the acoustics. The DeWalt generator I bought to replace the one the dog ate. A big bin of assorted Hotwheel tracks and accessories. Another bin of Lego paraphernalia.
All of this might come in handy for the day we have to entertain grandchildren.
There are many boxes of books and notes that are the residue of a long ago sociology degree.
An air hockey table that glows in the dark, in case you want to play air hockey in the dark.
Three bicycles. My daughter's little starter bike with a basket on the front. Grandchild material again. My Raleigh road bike that is so old it was actually built in England. Junior's mountain bike that he has long since outgrown.
That Raleigh still has the mounting hardware on it from the child seat that used to be mounted over the back tire. We must have done hundreds of miles of bike rides. We used it till Junior was maybe getting a little too heavy for it, because one day we set out and the first corner I took, the seat toppled off the back of the bike and Junior did a face plant on the street. The mounting hardware pulled right through the plastic seat.
That wasn't a very good day.
There's a vintage Toshiba television from back when they were experimenting with Carver stereo sound systems on their TVs. Nobody in there right mind would ever throw that out. It's actually great for music videos.
Maybe someday there will be a grandchild who is into music videos.
There's a kayak hanging from the ceiling that hasn't come down since we put it up there.
And tools... tools like you wouldn't believe. I've taken a couple of stabs at getting the tools organized, but to no avail. The job just overwhelms me. I start out well. One tool box for screwdrivers. One tool box for wrenches. One tool box for sockets. One tool box for miscellaneous, and so on.
Eventually I just end up with eight or nine toolboxes of miscellaneous, and it's inevitably easier to stop in at TSC and buy a number two Robertson screwdriver or a 5/16 socket than it is to root through all those toolboxes.
The last tool I bought was an inch and 3/8 socket to fit the hydraulic tank on the backhoe. It was too small, so I took it back an exchanged it for a inch and 7/16. That was too small as well, but I got the hydraulic tank open with a pipe wrench, which I could have done in the first place. In the meantime, that inch and 7/16 socket has disappeared into one of those tool boxes, so I can't even take it back for a refund, unless I spend an afternoon looking for it.
Then I'd have to look for the receipt... Better to just leave well enough alone and take comfort in knowing that if I ever need an inch and 7/16 socket I've got one.
Somewhere.
There's a few boxes of stuff we inherited from Uncle Murray.
There's a store-quality clothes rack behung with fur coats. The real stuff; mink, chinchilla, fox. Back in the day the Farm Manager's father was a furrier, one of the traditional Jewish trades. Thanks to Brigette Bardot and PETA she can't wear that stuff anywhere, but out of respect for her father we'll never throw it out.
And there's more, lot's more, but you can see what I'm up against.
But at least the Wi-Fi works in the garage.
That's a tall order. Damn near overwhelming. In fact, I dare say I am overwhelmed.
What's driving this is the need to put the Mustang Fifty away for the winter. I had thought the barn, but that doesn't make sense when there's a garage right by the house. Trouble is, the garage is full.
I've been out here planning the clean up all afternoon. Eventually I had to bring the laptop out here, partly out of curiosity whether the Wi-Fi reaches this far, and partly because to plan this job properly I'm going to have to generate a couple of spreadsheets and maybe a power-point presentation.
That's my story anyway.
The garage collection has in actuality spilled out from the garage. Just for an example, the snow-blower, which will be called upon in the first blizzard of the year, has spend months sitting in the weather in front of the garage, while at least two non-operable lawnmowers take up space inside.
That simply makes no sense whatsoever.
Not that those lawnmowers need to be inoperable. Just need a little tinkering. But there are only so many hours in a day.
Then there's a very substantial NordicTrack treadmill. This is a veritable Cadillac of treadmills. This puppy will do everything short of cooking your breakfast. You can even hook it up to your computer. I have no clue why anyone would want to do that, but it's got the connection ports just in case.
It fell out of use even long before one of the hounds chewed the cord off it. I put on a new cord about a year ago. Not that anyone has used it since, but it's nice to know it works.
There's a drum kit. My 200 watt bass amp. Another hand-built amp I use with the harp. A couple of guitars... three or four if you count the acoustics. The DeWalt generator I bought to replace the one the dog ate. A big bin of assorted Hotwheel tracks and accessories. Another bin of Lego paraphernalia.
All of this might come in handy for the day we have to entertain grandchildren.
There are many boxes of books and notes that are the residue of a long ago sociology degree.
An air hockey table that glows in the dark, in case you want to play air hockey in the dark.
Three bicycles. My daughter's little starter bike with a basket on the front. Grandchild material again. My Raleigh road bike that is so old it was actually built in England. Junior's mountain bike that he has long since outgrown.
That Raleigh still has the mounting hardware on it from the child seat that used to be mounted over the back tire. We must have done hundreds of miles of bike rides. We used it till Junior was maybe getting a little too heavy for it, because one day we set out and the first corner I took, the seat toppled off the back of the bike and Junior did a face plant on the street. The mounting hardware pulled right through the plastic seat.
That wasn't a very good day.
There's a vintage Toshiba television from back when they were experimenting with Carver stereo sound systems on their TVs. Nobody in there right mind would ever throw that out. It's actually great for music videos.
Maybe someday there will be a grandchild who is into music videos.
There's a kayak hanging from the ceiling that hasn't come down since we put it up there.
And tools... tools like you wouldn't believe. I've taken a couple of stabs at getting the tools organized, but to no avail. The job just overwhelms me. I start out well. One tool box for screwdrivers. One tool box for wrenches. One tool box for sockets. One tool box for miscellaneous, and so on.
Eventually I just end up with eight or nine toolboxes of miscellaneous, and it's inevitably easier to stop in at TSC and buy a number two Robertson screwdriver or a 5/16 socket than it is to root through all those toolboxes.
The last tool I bought was an inch and 3/8 socket to fit the hydraulic tank on the backhoe. It was too small, so I took it back an exchanged it for a inch and 7/16. That was too small as well, but I got the hydraulic tank open with a pipe wrench, which I could have done in the first place. In the meantime, that inch and 7/16 socket has disappeared into one of those tool boxes, so I can't even take it back for a refund, unless I spend an afternoon looking for it.
Then I'd have to look for the receipt... Better to just leave well enough alone and take comfort in knowing that if I ever need an inch and 7/16 socket I've got one.
Somewhere.
There's a few boxes of stuff we inherited from Uncle Murray.
There's a store-quality clothes rack behung with fur coats. The real stuff; mink, chinchilla, fox. Back in the day the Farm Manager's father was a furrier, one of the traditional Jewish trades. Thanks to Brigette Bardot and PETA she can't wear that stuff anywhere, but out of respect for her father we'll never throw it out.
And there's more, lot's more, but you can see what I'm up against.
But at least the Wi-Fi works in the garage.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Chicken diplomacy; as war clouds gather KFC opens store in Iran
You've got to hand it to the Colonel.
Colonel Sanders that is. What with all the war mongering that's been going on, the desk thumping and the idiotic "all options on the table" talk, it takes substantial cajones to open up a KFC in the Islamic Republic.
I'd be careful. Every time the Ayatollahs want to have an anti-USA rally they're going to send the crowds to demonstrate in front of the KFC. After all, it'll be the closest that America has to a diplomatic presence in Iran.
The Colonel will become synonymous with The Great Satan.
Iranian terror groups will link up with animal rights groups like Peta in the West and fight a combined action to save Islam from the Great Satan and the chickens from the Colonel.
On the other hand, maybe the Ayatollahs will develop a fondness for the Colonel's secret recipe.
Colonel Sanders that is. What with all the war mongering that's been going on, the desk thumping and the idiotic "all options on the table" talk, it takes substantial cajones to open up a KFC in the Islamic Republic.
I'd be careful. Every time the Ayatollahs want to have an anti-USA rally they're going to send the crowds to demonstrate in front of the KFC. After all, it'll be the closest that America has to a diplomatic presence in Iran.
The Colonel will become synonymous with The Great Satan.
Iranian terror groups will link up with animal rights groups like Peta in the West and fight a combined action to save Islam from the Great Satan and the chickens from the Colonel.
On the other hand, maybe the Ayatollahs will develop a fondness for the Colonel's secret recipe.
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