Author: Simon

Posted on

Memories 06 – Six and a Half Guilders per Jew

One of my old memories I can’t seem to shake is of a movie I saw in history class in junior high. Although calling it a “movie” is a stretch, as is using the term “history”. It wasn’t so much a movie as it was a serialized fictional historical docuseries based on Anne Frank’s final days in hiding. And the class wasn’t history per se, as lower American education doesn’t like to present historical facts nearly as much as providing an Americanized historical narrative, i.e. “Social Studies”. And I think this memory resurfaced because for one, it was an unsolved problem that my mind had filed away for future rumination; and two, that the current Israeli-Hamas conflict rekindled my ire for the aforementioned narrative.

The narrative goes something like this: the Jews, long an unfairly hated and persecuted people, became the ultimate victims of Nazi Germany’s “final solution”, wherein they were systematically murdered. America, either ignorant or unbelieving of the genocide, forced the world with Britain’s help to face the truth. Nazi leaders were tried for war crimes at Nuremberg and executed, and the Jews were granted their own nation state of Israel, enforced by western powers.

To question this narrative is to risk accusations of antisemitism.

The problem with this story is that it ends. What’s not taught in American schools is the aftermath: Israeli militarization, persecution of the Palestinians, Israeli-backed political assassinations, Israeli cyber attacks (Stuxnet). Or their ancient history of of violence: Zealots, Sicarii.

To mention this is to risk accusations of antisemitism.

The aftermath revealed more than anything that yes, the Jews are people. But they’re not an overly altruistic people. They’re just people, who now have the upper hand. And people who have the upper hand rarely compromise or forget old grievances. As an American who lived through the entirety of the 20-year Afghanistan War, I see this all too well with my own people.

Did the Americans feel bad for the Jews after World War II and use their influence to finally grant them their own safe harbor, or see an opportunity to exploit Allied sentiment and gain an unconditional friend and forward base with which to secure interests in the Middle East?

And did the Israelis in turn exploit their western backing to rekindle a grievance with old enemies? Did this increased hostility force a backlash and spark the Israeli-Hamas conflict? Some students and faculty at Harvard thought so.

And they were quickly accused of antisemitism.

I’ll leave these thoughts without my own conclusions.

Because I don’t want to be accused of antisemitism.

The movie followed the “adventure” of a neo-Nazi who for some reason visits the Holocaust museum in D.C. alone. I’m not sure who let a skinhead with swastika tattoos into such an exhibit, but whatever. Inside, the exhibitions burst into the surrealistic ether, swirling about Mr. Skinhead, which I presume is meant to indicate a religious experience, further enhanced by a Morgan Freeman-esque character who then appears to explain the error of Skinhead’s ways by sending him to live a simulation as a Jew in hiding with the Franks.

Things don’t work out for him. There’s a “surprising” personality clash and he leaves, gets arrested by the Gestapo, and betrays the Franks who then get arrested. Skinhead feels remorse, thus delivering the heavy-handed message.

The Gestapo captain then tells Skinhead that they normally pay 6.5 guilders per Jew, but where he’s going, he won’t need it; then proceeds to level a Luger at Skinhead’s skinhead before a cutaway. There doesn’t appear to be a historical consensus on who informed on the Frank family, so I guess time-travel isn’t ruled out.

So what’s 6.5 guilders worth? A brief history lesson of the German guilder reveals that its usage was discontinued late 19th century, so I figured this to be creative license. Then I remembered Anne Frank wasn’t living in Germany. She was in the Neatherlands. Turns out the Dutch were still using their own version of the guilder, which still has an active currency code of ANG. So 6.5ANG = 3.63USD. Anne Frank was arrested in 1944, so a little handy inflation calculator tells me that Anne Frank was sold out for $62.56 in today’s money, or $375.36 for the whole family of 6. A nice little sum I suppose?

Closure at last, though I can’t find any reliable account that this was the actual going rate.

And no – there isn’t a conclusion to this post. Just a rambling train of thought based on contemporary events.

–Simon

Posted on

Don’t Be a Goddamn Coward! – Pretzel Edition

I purchased food-grade poison. Technically, alcohol is just this. And also a toxin. Semantics are fun.

But in this case I refer to lye. Sodium hydroxide. I buy this every few years for clearing drains, heavy-duty cleaning, and disposing of bodies (there’s only so much room in my crawlspace).

Chemically speaking, lye denatures collagen, among other things. It also creates a highly exothermic reaction, especially when mixed with boiling water. It’s remarkably effective at liquefying human…stuff. It’s also the active ingredient in commercial drain cleaners. And purchased in its raw form, is cheap. An 8 pound bulk order would set me back about $30, though I had to find a distributor through some shady websites. This last time though, the prices were beyond silly. I know – “supply chains”, “labor shortages”, and “no one wants to work anymore”. But after some more digging, I found a new supplier for a reasonable price: Walmart Online. Go figure.

And it was only after it arrived that I discovered it was food-grade. This is in contrast to the usual technical-grade product I would normally get. The difference being, the latter has impurities that make it unfit for human consumption, which in the past translated to cheaper. But with this not the case anymore, I ended up with food-grade. Again, amusing in that it’s a poison.

But it’s not a poison in the sense that it disrupts metabolic functions. It’s a poison in that in sufficient concentrations it dissolves organic tissue. But properly diluted, its corrosive properties are minimized, and ideally suited to make flour dough brown and soft.

Which is why it’s traditionally been a key ingredient in pretzels. So no time like the present to experiment! After a couple attempts and reviewing numerous recipes, this is the combination I have determined ideal:

Recipe

Preheat oven to 450 degrees F.

Place parchment paper on a cookie sheet.

Slurry

  • 1.2 cups water, heated to ~115 degrees F.
  • 2 oz melted butter (Note: use quality butter here. I noticed certain budget brands (ahem, Costco) have diluted theirs. This resulted in my first attempted pretzels cracking from the increased internal steam pressure from the added water content. Unfortunately our American food labeling rules allow for some lying wiggle room estimation, so even the calorie count isn’t fool-proof. Pay extra and buy name brand. Go European – 82% butterfat content to be safe.)
  • 1 tablespoon sugar.
  • 2.5 teaspoons yeast (I use active dry as my go-to, and this worked fine).

Let yeast proof in the slurry while prepping the dry ingredients.

Dry

  • 2 teaspoons salt.
  • 22 oz (by weight) all purpose flour (most recipes specify this over bread flour, I think to avoid chewy pretzels).

Combine all ingredients and knead for ~10 minutes. Use your best judgment here. If you can’t figure this part out, then learn some more basic bread-making first.

The Poison

  • 4 cups cold water
  • 2 tablespoons lye

Proof

  • Proof the dough in a covered bowl for at least an hour. Again, this is a judgment call. See prior comment about gaining bread-making experience first.

Separate dough into 6 portions. I like this size. It’s like those big fluffy fair pretzels, except they’ll be softer because we’re using actual lye and not sissy boiled baking soda.

Shape dough. I went with the traditional string cross shape thing.

Dip dough for 10-15 seconds in lye solution. I used nitrile gloves for the added control. Also using gloves allows for some tactile sensory input. The dough will get noticeably gooey real quick. Place on parchment and repeat for each pretzel.

Sprinkle with salt. The salt will stick nicely to the treated dough. I prefer sea salt, but kosher will work. Personal preference here.

Bake for 14 minutes. This is oddly specific but does appear to hit the perfect spot.

My first attempt. See those cracks? Fuck you, Costco.

And there you have it. It’s somewhat laborious, but they beat out any pretzel I’ve ever purchased. I’m sure street vendors don’t use lye, and no form of chemical stabilizer magic can beat that fresh-from-the-oven texture. So don’t be a goddamn coward, and use some lye!

–Simon

Posted on

Pedestrianism

I live in the suburbs, yes. I admit this. I prefer the concept of a townhouse. Well, actually I fantasize about a square house containing a courtyard, like a small castle, with limited exterior windows and minimal property line setback. Within, I could maintain a garden devoid of deer and neighbor pets’ defecations.

But Americans’ infatuation with the lawn prohibits such designs. And let us be clear: the lawn has nothing to do with public aesthetics. The American lawn is a public display of affluence. Feast thine eyes on my biological wasteland – flawlessly maintained with unsustainable irrigation and carcinogenic compounds. And don’t you dare walk on it! I will cut your bitch-ass! Look at it and feel sad at your pathetic existence, devoid of the opportunity to take pressurized public water that’s been sanitized for human consumption and spray it haphazardly upon a carpet of plants that offers nothing in return aside from smugness and some erosion control.

Alas but I cannot humble myself to your financial superiority, for if I’m required to traverse your neighborhood, I must also abide by the American infatuation with cars, for you have denied me the option needed to worship you: the ability to safely walk past your stupid fucking lawn – sidewalks.

Why did we go so far as to worship private greenspace but stop short of letting the proletariat masses see it? I’m guessing for the same reasons that we have gated communities, and that reason is: “Fuck you!” I’ll unzip my pants to allow you the privilege of pleasuring me, but first you have to beg me for the opportunity.

Vulgarities aside, I think this is pretty close to the American public ethos. We’d rather risk the lives of loved ones than allow an undesirable to conveniently walk through our neighborhoods.

And in this country, public transportation doesn’t count. If you’re riding the bus, you’re of the same social class.

So I ask: Why do we hate pedestrians so much?

Obviously, it’s because we love a hierarchical system when we’re on the top of that hierarchy. Punching down is universally human – not solely an American concept. But as Americans, this is one way we love to do so.

Think I’m exaggerating?

As an involuntary pedestrian myself for 22 years, I’ll cite some examples to prove my point. And as a bonus, rate their perceived level of asocial behavior:

  • Lack of sidewalks. Doing some internet sleuthing, I was surprised to discover that this wasn’t simply a cost-saving measure. The government, despite the general contempt for it, is actually looking out for the public’s safety in most cases. In this instance, I discovered that housing developers actually pay exemption fees to avoid installing sidewalks in their communities. I’m sure this varies by locality and various ordinances, but that it happens at all is very telling. And I think we’re all aware that in the American goods economy, costs are just passed to the consumer, so either way, the developer would either charge for the sidewalk or for the fee. But they choose the fee because it’s easier and no one moving into the community apparently sees the lack of sidewalks as a dealbreaker. The government is trying to help us and instead we collectively say no. And as a result, there’s almost nowhere safe to walk. Verdict: passive-aggressive indifference.
  • Hellstrip use. You know that strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street, assuming your neighborhood actually has sidewalks? I always wondered where the term came from, and it may be an archaic word, but some internet searching seems to agree that a plant nerd coined the phrase sometime in the 90s to denote a piece of land on which it’s difficult to grow things. I call bullshit on the definition, because I’ve never not seen one fully planted up, except by intent. In fact, I’ve often seen them planted with rather unfriendly botanical barriers – anywhere from yucca and cacti to blackberries. I should also note that the hellstrip isn’t actually owned by the adjacent house. The city owns it, but there’s a social contract that the homeowner maintain it. The homeowner seems to resent this arrangement, having to maintain public property that in their mind is technically their own property, all so that losers without cars can comfortably walk through. And god forbid the city decide to put a bus stop there. Could the homeowner be courteous enough to plant a shade tree? The bus stop by where I lived in highschool employed a slash-and-burn approach. And this was Ohio, so it’s not like plants couldn’t grow there. But no – the hellstrip by the sign was stripped of anything that could offer shade, and the ground was ripped up and replaced with gravel, interspersed with black volcanic rock to better absorb the heat and make walking hazardous. Even better, the homeowner would come out of his house if he saw me, and awkwardly tend to the “landscaping” next to me until the bus came. Jackass. Verdict: low intimidation, low aggression
  • But at least presumed property ownership is understandable, if not excusable. Sidewalk availability notwithstanding, I’ve been on the receiving end of more direct pedestrian-hating actions. At the more benign end of the spectrum, there’s the practice of honking horns while passing pedestrians. There’s also yelling, I guess to mix things up, after regular pedestrians learned to generally ignore car horns. Eventually, all forms of auditory aggressions fell into obsolescence with the ubiquitous adoption of iPods. Then I could just crank the volume until all I could hear was the soothing sounds of Metallica. Following this trend, hand-wringing evening news soundbites emerged claiming that iPods were a hazard and distraction, ignoring the fact that cars have radios with chronically-blasting music, not to mention that pedestrians are “surprisingly” very aware of their surroundings because the human animal has an innate survival instinct. But I doubt Peter Jennings ever had to walk anywhere. Verdict: low intimidation, medium aggression
  • Higher on the aggression scale is stalking. This is when a motorist follows you at the pace you’re walking. It’s an obvious intimidation tactic, because anyone actually trying to follow someone home would be more discreet. It does depend on context though. Walking home alone at night evokes a different level of caution as a simple afternoon stroll. Casually altering course to where a car can’t follow is the easiest fix, because that takes away their advantage: the car itself. Or just making an abrupt 180 and walking back, because then they have to awkwardly turn around. Or you can do what I did a couple times and confront the person directly, politely asking if they’re lost and need directions. That might not be the best idea now that everyone has a gun, but it worked for me in the past. Verdict: high intimidation, low aggression
  • Next up – feinting. If a motorist feels your presence in or next to a road is an offense, they may feint a collision. Being disadvantaged in the physical barrier department, the pedestrian is compelled to leap to safety, followed by much jeering on the motorist’s part. Sort of like a cowboy movie where the outlaw yells “Dance boy!” and begins shooting at their target’s feet. I find this to be one of the most common forms of motorist aggression, maybe because it’s easy and carries with it plausible deniability (“I was tired and drifted to the curb, officer. I swear.”) The pedestrian, meanwhile, had an adrenal dump and twisted an ankle. Verdict: high intimidation, medium aggression
  • And lastly, there’s the also common throwing things from a moving vehicle person. Paper wads, beer cans, gum, and spit are the more common projectiles, but there’s endless potential. In my sister’s case once, it was a bucket of water. The potential is endless, and with it carries a gauntlet of outcomes: discomfort to death. This is the only pedestrian-hating act that the news every reports on, because it has dramatic and measurably violent results. Verdict: low intimidation (since it’s a surprise attack), high aggression

Americans hate pedestrians and actively seek to marginalize, intimidate, and physically harm them, (and deny them options for safe non-vehicle transportation).

So for those who never had to walk further than your car, I’d ask for some more mindfulness. I know waiting an extra 20 seconds when someone trips the crosswalk signal is the worst experience imaginable, but maybe asocial aggression isn’t the best remedy for your temper.

Plus, you’re not the only one carrying a gun now. Something else to consider.

–Simon

Posted on

Thanksgiving Squirrel 2023

Liz succumbed to maternal guilt and we spent Thanksgiving at her folks’. I won’t call out my irritations with specific individuals on a public blog (Thanksgiving – right?), but I will point out my seasonal #4 kill when I snuck out to escape. Huzzah!

Another red squirrel. Not much to eat but they sure are easy to clean.

In related news, I fell back to Big Iron’s original bead sight. When I got the shotgun, I was excited and went a little silly on some modifications, most of which turned out okay. But the choke needed to stay at full mod, and the rifle sights proved to take too long for target acquisition. So, tired of missed shots and slow aiming, I resorted back to what worked for me for 20 years. And shortly thereafter, I landed a perfect instant-kill shot on this little guy’s head and upper torso. I’m once again a killing machine.

And I didn’t kill any in-laws.

–Simon