Later On

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Archive for November 22nd, 2019

Defenseless: Missouri justice system violates the Constitution every day

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The US seems to be struggling to understand the Constitution. David Helling reports at

Terrance Blanks sits in a Missouri prison, serving 30 years after being convicted of murder.

He admits firing the gun that killed Rockey Bradley in 2016 outside a Kansas City convenience store. Bradley had a gun, too. The two men shot each other. Blanks says he acted in self-defense.

Blanks’ trial lawyer was David Wiegert. He’s a public defender, a state-paid attorney who represents clients like Blanks who are too poor to hire a lawyer of their own.

Wiegert was “totally unprepared. Totally unprepared,” Blanks says on the phone, from prison.

“The public defender system is a joke.”

For six months, Star reporters and editorial writers have combed the state in an unprecedented effort to examine Missouri’s troubled public defender system.

Star journalists have talked with judges, prosecutors, lawyers and defendants, studying dozens of hearing transcripts, court filings, jail records and arrest reports. We’ve traveled more than 1,000 miles to sit in rural and urban courtrooms, documenting how Missouri justice plays out.

The conclusion is inescapable: The U.S. Constitution guarantees every criminal defendant the right to an effective lawyer, and Missouri violates that right every day.

Missouri’s public defender system is an underfunded disaster. Its 384 attorneys are too often overworked, under-trained, lacking needed investigative resources and unavailable for clients in and out of jail.

Missouri ranks 49th of 50 states in per capita spending on the public defender’s office, ahead of only Mississippi. Public defenders spend an average of $346 per case, one court found. They handle 75,000 new cases a year, the vast majority of felony cases in the state.

More than 4,000 Missouri defendants are on wait lists, or informal postponement lists, their cases delayed until a public defender can be found to represent them. Clients wait weeks or months, sometimes in jail, for a public defender to become available.

Once they accept a case, public defenders routinely struggle to meet with defendants, cutting their clients out of their own defense. Public defender turnover is high, and the pay is low. Legal mistakes are far too common.

“You … have people going to prison that shouldn’t be,” said Jeffrey Martin, who runs the public defender’s office for Cass, Johnson, Bates, Henry and St. Clair counties. “And you’ll have attorneys who just walk into my office and say, ‘I would rather work at QuikTrip than do this.’”

Defendants feel enormous pressure to plead guilty to their charges, not always because they’re guilty, but because it’s the only way to extract themselves from the delays and uncertainty of the legal morass that often upends their lives. One public defender called it “pleading to daylight.”

Leon Munday, who retired as a public defender in 2017, recently testified about the “bottleneck” of indigent cases in Jackson County.

“The only way to do it successfully is to throw the defendant under the bus, or violate the rules of professional conduct, or both,” he said. “And that’s what’s happened.”


In an aging courtroom in Butler, Missouri, nearly 100 felony defendants sit and wait.

Their charges vary. Bad checks, theft, drugs, probation violations. But they have this in common: They are too poor to hire a lawyer, and they don’t have one.

Virtually every defendant here has been approved for an attorney paid for by the state. Jason Speer, the only public defender in rural Bates County, might be that lawyer.

But the defendants in this courtroom can’t talk with Speer. He’s too overloaded to take their cases — he’s got more than 160 on his desk — so he can’t meet with them or provide legal advice.

Instead, the defendants stand before Bates County Associate Circuit Judge Julie Highley alone, without any legal representation, just to check in. They each spend about 30 seconds at the bench.

“Stresses me out,” says Timothy Davis, who was accused of domestic assault and then approved for a public defender in May — of 2018. None had been assigned by the end of September.

“We have to keep putting off work,” his wife, Melanie, says. “We shouldn’t have to keep coming here for two years. That’s way too long.”

Upstairs, Speer scrambles in and out of the courtroom, meeting with clients he does represent. Their case files are stacked high in a clear plastic box. Bail is negotiated. Trial dates are set. For most, justice is delayed for another day.

“I could use some help,” Speer says.


“I thought it was going to be an open-and-closed case,” Blanks says in a phone call from the South Central Correctional Center in Licking, Missouri.

It was not. A jury found him guilty. Blanks blames Wiegert. . .

Continue reading.

I’m sure that it did not escape your notice that this injustice is restricted to the poor. The US hates the poor and goes out of its way to punish them.

Written by LeisureGuy

22 November 2019 at 5:55 pm

The Collapse of Civilization May Have Already Begun

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It does seem as though we are adrift on a wooden ship whose stern is fully ablaze while we continue to dance on the deck. Nafeez Ahmed writes in Motherboard:

“It is now too late to stop a future collapse of our societies because of climate change.”

These are not the words of a tinfoil hat-donning survivalist. This is from a paper delivered by a senior sustainability academic at a leading business school to the European Commission in Brussels, earlier this year. Before that, he delivered a similar message to a UN conference: “Climate change is now a planetary emergency posing an existential threat to humanity.”


In the age of climate chaos, the collapse of civilization has moved from being a fringe, taboo issue to a more mainstream concern.

As the world reels under each new outbreak of crisis—record heatwaves across the Western hemisphere, devastating fires across the Amazon rainforest, the slow-moving Hurricane Dorian, severe ice melting at the poles—the question of how bad things might get, and how soon, has become increasingly urgent.

The fear of collapse is evident in the framing of movements such as ‘Extinction Rebellion’ and in resounding warnings that business-as-usual means heading toward an uninhabitable planet.

But a growing number of experts not only point at the looming possibility that human civilization itself is at risk; some believe that the science shows it is already too late to prevent collapse. The outcome of the debate on this is obviously critical: it throws light on whether and how societies should adjust to this uncertain landscape.

Yet this is not just a scientific debate. It also raises difficult moral questions about what kind of action is warranted to prepare for, or attempt to avoid, the worst. Scientists may disagree about the timeline of collapse, but many argue that this is entirely beside the point. While scientists and politicians quibble over timelines and half measures, or how bad it’ll all be, we are losing precious time. With the stakes being total collapse, some scientists are increasingly arguing that we should fundamentally change the structure of society just to be safe.


Jem Bendell, a former consultant to the United Nations and longtime Professor of Sustainability Leadership at the University of Cumbria’s Department of Business, delivered a paper in May 2019 explaining how people and communities might “adapt to climate-induced disruption.”

Bendell’s thesis is not only that societal collapse due to climate change is on its way, but that it is, in effect, already here. “Climate change will disrupt your way of life in your lifetimes,” he told the audience at a climate change conference organized by the European Commission.

Devastating consequences, like “the cascading effects of widespread and repeated harvest failures” are now unavoidable, Bendell’s paper says.

He argues this is not so much a doom-and-gloom scenario as a case of waking up to reality, so that we can do as much as we can to save as many lives as possible. His recommended response is what he calls “Deep Adaptation,” which requires going beyond “mere adjustments to our existing economic system and infrastructure, in order to prepare us for the breakdown or collapse of normal societal functions.”

Bendell’s message has since gained a mass following and high-level attention. It is partly responsible for inspiring the new wave of climate protests reverberating around the world.

In March, he launched the Deep Adaptation Forum to connect and support people who, in the face of “inevitable” societal collapse, want to explore how they can “reduce suffering, while saving more of society and the natural world.” Over the last six months, the Forum has gathered more than 10,000 participants. More than 600,000 people have downloaded Bendell’s paper, called Deep Adaptation: A Map for Navigating our Climate Tragedy, published by the University of Cumbria’s Institute of Leadership and Sustainability (IFALS). And many of the key organizers behind the Extinction Rebellion (XR) campaign joined the protest movement after reading it.

“There will be a near-term collapse in society with serious ramifications for the lives of readers,” concludes that paper, released in 2017.

Catastrophe is “probable,” it adds, and extinction “is possible.” Over coming decades, we will see the escalating impacts of the fossil fuel pollution we have already pumped into the atmosphere and oceans. Even if we ceased emissions tomorrow, Bendell argues, the latest climate science shows that “we are now in a climate emergency, which will increasingly disrupt our way of life… a societal collapse is now inevitable within the lifetimes of readers of this paper.”

Bendell puts a rough timeline on this. Collapse will happen within 10 years and inflict disruptions across nations, involving “increased levels of malnutrition, starvation, disease, civil conflict, and war.”

Yet this diagnosis opens up far more questions than it answers. I was left wondering: Which societies are at risk of collapsing due to climate change, and when? Some societies or all societies? Simultaneously or sequentially? Why some rather than others? And how long will the collapse process take? Where will it start, and in what sector? How will that impact others sectors? Or will it take down all sectors of societies in one fell swoop? And what does any of this imply for whether, or how, we might prepare for collapse?

In attempting to answer these questions, I spoke to a wide-range of scientists and experts, and took a deep dive into the obscure but emerging science of how societies and civilizations collapse. I wanted to understand not just whether Bendell’s forecast was right, but to find out what a range experts from climate scientists to risk analysts were unearthing about the possibility of our societies collapsing in coming years and decades.

The emerging science of collapse is still, unfortunately, a nascent field. That’s because it’s an interdisciplinary science that encompasses not only the incredibly complex, interconnected natural systems that comprise the Earth System, but also has to make sense of how those systems interact with the complex, interconnected social, political, economic, and cultural systems of the Human System.

What I discovered provoked a wide range of emotions. I was at times surprised and shocked, often frightened, sometimes relieved. Mostly, I was unsettled. Many scientists exposed flaws in Bendell’s argument. Most rejected the idea of inevitable near-term collapse outright. But to figure out whether a near-term collapse scenario of some kind was likely led me far beyond Bendell. A number of world leading experts told me that  . . .

Continue reading.

That video is worth watching. More on Extinction Rebellion:

Written by LeisureGuy

22 November 2019 at 1:33 pm

Tempeh batch 8 after 24 hours

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The batch now leaves the oven for the countertop, and I’ve ripped away the center part of the foil covering to avoid stifling the evaporation while still covering the ends to minimize those drying out. This idea is based on my experience with batch 5 (red kidney beans, edges dried out) and batch 7 (green lentils, center was soggy and not so rich in mold). I’m hoping this modified cover solves both problems.

The tempeh’s temperature is now only about 90ºF (room temperature being 74ºF), whereas the last batch reached 106ºF, but that was after 48 hours.

We’ll see, as I used to tell my children.

Here’s the main post on my tempeh-making endeavors.

UPDATE: The Wife took one look at the foil idea and said, “That’s not going to be warm enough,” and came up with a perfect solution: a clean dishtowel stretched over the dish. That will avoid the moisture problem, since the towel will absorb any evaporation from the tempeh (and then in turn evaporate that moisture into the (dryish wintertime) air of the room, and the towel will provide enough insulation to keep the tempeh perking along.

Written by LeisureGuy

22 November 2019 at 1:08 pm

Posted in Food, Plant-only diet, Recipes

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Greece’s answer to the honeybee population crisis

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I just got a newsletter from Craftsmanship Quarterly (a newsletter definitely worth signing up for—and it’s free; see top of page at the article link), which begins:

I’m sure you’re all familiar with the plight of the endangered honeybee, which was recently declared the most important living being on Earth by the Earthwatch Institute. Reports of its declining populations, especially here in the U.S., are frequently in the news; as a result of this decline, U.S. honey output has dropped off dramatically over the past 25 years or so.

In the meantime, Greece — a small country suffering from intense economic troubles — continues to produce what many consider the world’s finest honey. What’s the Greeks’ secret? And why can’t honey producers in wealthier countries keep up?

Journalist and science writer Rob Waters traveled to some far-flung corners of the Hellenic Republic to find out, and to bring you this week’s new feature story, “Greece’s Secret to Perfect Honey.” I hope you’ll find it as interesting and enlightening as I did.

The article’s blurb:

While prosperous countries like the U.S. have struggled to keep their honeybees alive, Greece continues to produce what many consider the world’s finest honey. What’s the Greeks’ secret? And why can’t everyone else keep up?

And the TOC:

Section 1. Greece’s potent herbs
Section 2. Honey from tree sap
Section 3. Bee wizard at work
Section 4. Honey’s professional allure
Section 5. The “mystery” behind bee colony collapse
Section 6. The forgotten bees
Section 7. Natural farming, unique flavors
Section 8. A mystical connection

Section 1:

Few countries love honey and revere beekeepers more than Greece, and perhaps no country has a deeper history in this craft. According to mythology, Greece’s first keeper of bees was the demigod Aristaeus, who was said to have learned beekeeping as a child from the Nymphs who raised him and to later pass his knowledge to humans. He “invented the riddled hive… and made a settled place for the labors of the wandering bees,” wrote the poet Nonnus in his epic fifth century poem, “Dionysiaca.” Nonnus also credited Aristaeus with developing the first bee-suit, and to have been reared on nectar and ambrosia, the honey-based foods of the Gods.

Mythology aside, beekeeping may have come to Greece as early as 1500 BCE, when laws promulgated by the Hittites outlined the punishment for theft of a hive (five shekels of silver, about the same as for stealing a sheep). In Athens, archaeologists have excavated cylindrical hives, made from pottery dating to 400 BCE, which often were reused as coffins for children.

Today, the average Greek consumes approximately 3.6 pounds of honey a year, the largest amount per capita in the European Union and more than double U.S. consumption. According to a 2013 study, Greece has the greatest density of bee colonies in Europe, with 11.4 colonies per square kilometer. (The U.S., by comparison, averages only one colony in twice that amount of land.) The country also produces some of the finest honey in the world. At the 2019 London Honey Awards, judges bestowed prizes on 17 Greek honey producers, crowning them with three of five possible platinum awards.

While bee colonies in the U.S. have been famously dying at a catastrophic rate for at least 10 years, dragging down American honey production, Greece’s honey industry has remained stable, producing honey that is widey praised. Indeed, Greek scientists have found that bee colonies on Mount Olympus, mythical home of the twelve Greek Gods, produce several varieties of honey that are among the most potent in the world, containing antibacterial, antioxidant, and anti-cancer properties.

Today, with the Greek economy still reeling from its years-long debt crisis, and unemployment hovering dangerously around 18 percent, beekeeping is still flourishing—an economic refuge for some, and a growing cottage industry.

I’ve come to Greece to understand why this country has so many prospering bees and beekeepers, and why theirs is so widely ranked as some of the most flavorful, potent, and healthful honey in the world. I also want to learn why Greece has largely avoided the catastrophic die-off of honeybees that has afflicted so many other countries—and what lessons Greek practices might yield for those countries. My questions went well beyond gastronomic concerns. In July, 2019, the Earthwatch Institute declared the honeybee “the most important living being on earth.” The reason: 70 percent of the world’s agriculture depends on bees, yet we’ve managed to let this insect’s population decline so dramatically that bees are now considered an endangered species. [Emphasis added – LG]

My efforts to answer these questions took me all over Greece, from the craggy, southwestern reaches of the Peloponnese peninsula in southern Greece, to Karditsa, a small, bicycle-friendly city in the center of the country, and finally to Amorgos, a narrow island shaped like a comma in the Aegean Sea.

Continue reading.

Written by LeisureGuy

22 November 2019 at 12:07 pm

What Joe Biden Can’t Bring Himself to Say

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Interesting report in the Atlantic by John Henderson:

is eyes fall to the floor when I ask him to describe it. We’ve been tiptoeing toward it for 45 minutes, and so far, every time he seems close, he backs away, or leads us in a new direction. There are competing theories in the press, but Joe Biden has kept mum on the subject. I want to hear him explain it. I ask him to walk me through the night he appeared to lose control of his words onstage.

“I—um—I don’t remember,” Biden says. His voice has that familiar shake, the creak and the croak. “I’d have to see it. I-I-I don’t remember.”

We’re in Biden’s mostly vacant Washington, D.C., campaign office on an overcast Tuesday at the end of the summer. Since entering the Democratic presidential-primary race in April, Biden has largely avoided in-depth interviews. When I first reached out, in late June, his press person was polite but noncommittal: Was an interview really necessary for the story?

Then came the second debate, at the end of July, in Detroit. The first one, a month earlier, had been a disaster for BidenHe was unprepared when Senator Kamala Harris criticized both his past resistance to federally mandated busing and a recent speech in which he’d waxed fondly about collaborating with segregationist senators. Some of his answers that night had been meander­ing and difficult to parse, feeding into the narrative that he wasn’t just prone to verbal slipups—he’s called himself a “gaffe machine”—but that his age was a problem, that he was confused and out of touch.

Detroit was Biden’s chance to regain control of the narrative. And then something else happened. The candidates were talking about health care. At first, Biden sounded strong, confident, presidential: “My plan makes a limit of co-pay to be One. Thousand. Dollars. Because we—”

He stopped. He pinched his eyes closed. He lifted his hands and thrust them forward, as if trying to pull the missing sound from his mouth. “We f-f-f-f-further
support—” He opened his eyes. “The uh-uh-uh-uh—” His chin dipped toward his chest. “The-uh, the ability to buy into the Obamacare plan.” Biden also stumbled when trying to say immune system.

Fox News edited these moments into a mini montage. Stifling laughter, the host Steve Hilton narrated: “As the right words struggled to make that perilous journey from Joe Biden’s brain to Joe Biden’s mouth, half the time he just seemed to give up with this somewhat tragic and limp admission of defeat.”

Several days later, Biden’s team got back in touch with me. One of his aides gingerly asked whether I’d noticed the former vice president stutter during the debate. Of course I had—I stutter, far worse than Biden. The aide said he was ready to talk about it. Last night, after Biden stumbled multiple times during the Atlanta debate, the topic became even more relevant.

“So how are you, man?”

Biden is in his usual white button-down and navy suit, a flag pin on the left lapel. Up close, he looks like he’s lost weight since leaving office in 2017. His height is commanding, but, as he approaches his 77th birthday, he doesn’t fill out his suit jacket like he used to.

I stutter as I begin to ask my first question. “I’ve only … told a few people I’m … d-doing this piece. Every time I … describe it, I get … caught on the w-word-uh stuh-tuh-tuh-tutter.”

“So did I,” Biden replies. “It doesn’t”—he interrupts himself—“can’t define who you are.”

Maybe you’ve heard Biden talk about his boyhood stutter. A non-stutterer might not notice when he appears to get caught on words as an adult, because he usually maneuvers out of those moments quickly and expertly. But on other occasions, like that night in Detroit, Biden’s lingering stutter is hard to miss. He stutters—­if slightly—on several sounds as we sit across from each other in his office. Before addressing the debate specifically, I mention what I’ve just heard. “I want to ask you, as, you know, a … stutterer to, uh, to a … stutterer. When you were … talking a couple minutes ago, it, it seemed to … my ear, my eye … did you have … trouble on s? Or on … m?”

Biden looks down. He pivots to the distant past, telling me that the letter s was hard when he was a kid. “But, you know, I haven’t stuttered in so long that it’s
hhhhard for me to remember the specific—” He pauses. “What I do remember is the feeling.”

I started stuttering at age 4.

I still struggle to say my own name. When I called the gas company recently, the automated voice apologized for not being able to understand me. This happens a lot, so I try to say “representative,” but r’s are tough too. When I reach a human, I’m inevitably asked whether we have a poor connection. Busy bartenders will walk away and serve someone else when I take too long to say the name of a beer. Almost every deli guy chuckles as I fail to enunciate my order, despite the fact that I’ve cut it down to just six words: “Turkey club, white toast, easy mayo.” I used to just point at items on the menu.

My head will shake on a really bad stutter. People have casually asked whether I have Parkinson’s. I curl my toes inside my shoes or tap my foot as a distraction to help me get out of it, a behavior that I’ve repeated so often, it’s become a tic. Sometimes I shuffle a pen between my hands. When I was little, I used to press my palm against my forehead in an effort to force the missing word out of my brain. Back then, my older brother would imitate this motion and the accompanying sound, a dull whine—something between a cow and a sheep. A kid at baseball camp, Michael, referred to me as “Stutter Boy.” He’d snap his fingers and repeat it as if calling a dog. “Stutter Boy! Stutter Boy!” In college, I applied for a job at a coffee shop. I stuttered horribly through the interview, and the owner told me he couldn’t hire me, because he wanted his café to be “a place where customers feel comfortable.”

Stuttering is a neurological disorder that affects roughly 70 million people, about 3 million of whom live in the United States. It has a strong genetic component: Two-thirds of stutterers have a family member who actively stutters or used to. Biden’s uncle on his mother’s side—“Uncle Boo-Boo,” as he was called—stuttered his whole life.

In the most basic sense, a stutter is a repetition, prolongation, or block in producing a sound. It typically presents between the ages of 2 and 4, in up to twice as many boys as girls, who also have a higher recovery rate. During the develop­mental years, some children’s stutter will disappear completely without intervention or with speech therapy. The longer someone stutters, however, the lower the chances of a full recovery—­perhaps due to the decreasing plasticity of the brain. Research suggests that no more than a quarter of people who still stutter at 10 will completely rid themselves of the affliction as adults.

The cultural perception of stutterers is that they’re fearful, anxious people, or simply dumb, and that stuttering is the result. But it doesn’t work like that. Let’s say you’re in fourth grade and you have to stand up and recite state capitals. You know that Juneau is the capital of Alaska, but you also know that you almost always block on the j sound. You become intensely anxious not because you don’t know the answer, but because you do know the answer, and you know you’re going to stutter on it.

Stuttering can feel like a series of betrayals. Your body betrays you when it refuses to work in concert with your brain to produce smooth speech. Your brain betrays you when it fails to recall the solutions you practiced after school with a speech therapist, allegedly in private, later learning that your mom was on the other side of a mirror, watching in the dark like a detective. If you’re a lucky stutterer, you have friends and family who build you back up, but sometimes your protectors betray you too.

A Catholic nun betrayed Biden when he was in seventh grade. “I think I was No. 5 in alphabetical order,” Biden says. He points over my right shoulder and stares into the middle distance as the movie rolls in his mind. “We’d sit along the radiators by the window.”

The office we’re in is awash in framed memories: Biden and his family, Biden and Barack Obama, Biden in a denim shirt posing for InStyle. The shelf behind the desk features, among other books, Jon Meacham’s The Soul of America. It’s a phrase Biden has adopted for his campaign this time around, his third attempt at the presidency. In almost every speech, Biden warns potential voters that 2020 is not merely an election, but a battle “for the soul of America.” Sometimes he swaps in nation.

But now we’re back in middle school. The students are taking turns reading a book, one by one, up and down the rows. “I could count down how many paragraphs, and I’d memorize it, because I found it easier to memorize than look at the page and read the word. I’d pretend to be reading,” Biden says. “You learned early on who the hell the bullies were,” he tells me later. “You could tell by the look, couldn’t you?”

For most stutterers, reading out loud summons peak dread. A chunk of text that may take a fluent person roughly a minute to read could take a stutterer five or 10 times as long. Four kids away, three kids away. Your shoulders tighten. Two away. The back of your neck catches fire. One away. Then it happens, and the room fills with secondhand embarrassment. Someone breathes a heavy sigh. Someone else laughs. At least one kid mimics your stutter while you’re actively stuttering. You never talk about it. At night, you stare at the ceiling above your bed, reliving it.

“The paragraph I had to read was: ‘Sir Walter Raleigh was a gentleman. He laid his cloak upon the muddy road suh-suh-so the lady wouldn’t soil her shoes when she entered the carriage,’ ” Biden tells me, slightly and unintentionally tripping up on the word so. “And I said, ‘Sir Walter Raleigh was a gentle man who—’ and then the nun said, ‘Mr. Biden, what is that word?’ And it was gentleman that she wanted me to say, not gentle man. And she said, ‘Mr. Buh-Buh-Buh-Biden, what’s that word?’ ”

Biden says he rose from his desk and left the classroom in protest, then walked home. The family story is that his mother, Jean, drove him back to school and confronted the nun with the made-for-TV phrase “You do that again, I’ll knock your bonnet off your head!” I ask Biden what went through his mind as the nun mocked him.

“Anger, rage, humiliation,” he says. His speech becomes staccato. “A feeling of, uh—like I’m sure you’ve experienced—it just drops out of your chest, just, like, you feel … a void.” He lifts his hands up to his face like he did on the debate stage in July, to guide the v sound out of his mouth: void.

By all accounts, Biden was both popular and a strong athlete in high school. . .

Continue reading. There’s much more, and it’s quite interesting.

Written by LeisureGuy

22 November 2019 at 9:51 am

A silvertip from The Copper Hat, two Bay Rums, and the Fendrihan Mk II

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Today I continue the natural-brush trek with the first brush of the second (and last) rack: this handsome model from a local store, The Copper Hat. With a Delrin® handle that is substantial and hefty, it’s fine brush indeed, a brush of which one can be proud.

Meißner Tremonia’s Natural Bay Rum is, like all their shaving soaps (and pastes, for that matter) both excellent and interesting, and the lather was just the sort of lather one wants. My Fendrihan Mk II (here is a bronze that was a limited edition) gave a totally satisfactory shave, noticeably better (more efficient and more enjoyable) than yesterday’s shave. This is a stainless steel razor of high quality at a very reasonable price. Christmas is coming. Do the math.

A good splash of Dominica Bay Rum and with a clear sky and bright sunlight, life looks pretty good and I feel ready for it.

Written by LeisureGuy

22 November 2019 at 9:13 am

Posted in Shaving

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