Who goes there? hankering, gross, mystical, nude,
How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat?
What is a man anyhow? what am I? what are you?
All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own,
Else it were time lost listening to me…
– Walt Whitman
Joe Nocera writes at the New York Times about the Target / Pershing Square proxy contest that ended yesterday on Thursday:
You can’t help but suspect that Mr. Ackman’s subsequent proxy fight, one of the most expensive ever mounted, was an act of pique. His dedicated Target fund had lost, according to numerous reports, some 90 percent of its value, largely because of his own bit of financial engineering: he owned options that accelerated his losses as the stock sank. His real estate idea had been rebuffed by management. (They turned him down in part because they feared a ratings downgrade.) He had asked to go on the board and been turned down for that as well. And though the stock was down, he could hardly argue that Target was poorly run, because it isn’t. He was like a spoiled child unaccustomed to being told “no.”
Joe’s column is the best I’ve seen on the issue yet.
Disclosures: I am an employee of Target and own stock in the corporation.
Massachusetts is at it again with more stupid firearms laws – laws that will do nothing to impact crime at all.
While there are many things that I miss about living in New England – I am certainly not missing the idiotic “anti-crime” measures that the Massachusetts legislature attempts to pull off. I’m quite happy about the approach that the Minnesota legislature usually chooses to take.
I’m a third generation Boy Scout. Like my father and grandfather before me, I chose to stay the course and complete the requirements to become an Eagle Scout. Each Eagle must complete, as a part of the requirements for the rank, a project involving community service and leadership of others. While my own project isn’t really worthy of mention this Memorial Day, the project of Michael Foor, the older brother of a classmate of mine is relevant today.
Michael, who was the first Eagle Scout in our new troop, endeavored to visit the various cemeteries throughout Fountain County, Indiana and map the location of every veteran’s graves. Annually, each weekend before Memorial Day, our scout troop received a large shipment of American flags from the government and proceeded to place a flag 12 inches in front of each veteran’s graves throughout our county.
It remains one of the single most impressive Eagle Scout projects that I’ve come across. And it served to a young man like me as a poignant reminder of what many families have sacrificed – even then, half a lifetime ago, my thoughts were with them on Memorial Day.
I haven’t written much lately – been involved in a project at work that has been quite involved – but my current team has been bugging me to provide them with something to read on here… so inspired by Lex’s post, here’s something new:
Kimber Ultra CDP II with Wilson Magazines at Bill’s Gun Shop & Range North.
Get a Kimber. Compromise somewhere else.
Chuck Butcher’s son took his own life this week – he has blogged about it here, written not long after the police informed he and his wife:
I choose to let the bad stuff fade and to keep alive pictures like the 4 year old lugging his toy gun throught the woods trying to sneak and still keep up with Dad on an elk hunt and his pride in learning woods craft and ability to spot animals no human should be have been able to. Squatting in the back yard catching for him in fear of being broken if a pitch got away and his absolute laughing pleasure when I had to pull the glove off and rub a badly stung hand.
My thoughts are with Chuck and his family.
Over at Science Blogs, Abel reflects on the 12th anniversary of his father’s death:
It was out there, in the darkness between Denver and Albuquerque, that I believe we had our last discussion, maybe a year after you died. I was camping alone, without a tent, in the cool dry Western night marveling at the stars of the Milky Way and a nebula I could see with your old hunting binoculars.
In a dream of myself lying there in my sleeping bag, my sister’s princess phone appeared suddenly on the arid grassland beside me – the very same one with the headset I cracked when a chair fell onto it while I was trying to make time with that postdoc from Edinburgh (that’s a story we’ll exchange offline). They call it a “landline” these days – we now have these wireless phones people carry around everywhere.
The phone rang – I looked around bewildered, but I answered. It was you. You said that you were sorry you couldn’t be there and wished you could be, but you were happy that I was enjoying what you wish you had done yourself.
And you said you missed me.
And I said I missed you, too.