Mike Iaconelli thinks angling in Center City storm drains is grate — and he was caught doing just that at Broad and Race Streets by bewildered passersby Wednesday. …
Iaconelli plopped himself on a bucket at the curb for three hours and dangled his line into a storm drain using soft pretzels as bait.
“There’s a thing in fishing called ‘match the hatch.’ … When you’re doing this you’ve got to think of what these fish are seeing. I’m using soft pretzels — and hot dogs are really good too,” he said. “Think about it: People are walking down the street, it gets discarded and goes in the drain.”
Iaconelli said that when he went urban fishing in London, he used SPAM.
Despite using the ultimate Philly bait, Iaconelli said he got just three bites and pulled in only one small catfish Wednesday.
He did hook a lot of amused pedestrians, who stopped to pepper him with questions like “Why?” and “Do you eat it?” (don’t worry, he doesn’t), and “Can I take a picture?”
“I enjoy making people’s day,” Iaconelli said. “They get to see something they don’t normally see and I enjoy making people aware that there’s fishing opportunities in the city.”
WASHINGTON, D.C.—At a campaign rally designed to drum up enthusiasm among Democratic voters, failed presidential candidate Hillary Clinton took the stage in an ominous black cloak and began encouraging her audience to let their anger control them.
“Yes, good, good,” she said, nodding at the crowd’s visible angst as an evil smile crept across her face. “The hate is swelling in you now. Take up weapons against Republicans— use them. Strike me down if you have to. Give in to your anger. With each passing moment, you make yourselves more my servants!”
She then threw back her cloak and cackled at the sky, hands blasting powerful electric charges at several of her aides, who were fried to a crisp. “Use your aggressive feelings, Democrats. Let the hate flow through you!”
Several assistants rushed the stage, pleading with her to find “the light” within her: “Your overconfidence is your weakness, Hillary!”
But she laughed off this assault, electrocuting those who would have tried to turn her in a split second. “And your faith in the outdated notion of civility is yours!”
Wilmington – Rick Stein, 71, of Wilmington was reported missing and presumed dead on September 27, 2018 when investigators say the single-engine plane he was piloting, The Northrop, suddenly lost communication with air traffic control and disappeared over the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Rehoboth Beach. Philadelphia police confirm Stein had been a patient at Thomas Jefferson University Hospital where he was being treated for a rare form of cancer. Hospital spokesman Walter Heisenberg says doctors from Stein’s surgical team went to visit him on rounds when they discovered his room was empty. Security footage shows Stein leaving the building at approximately 3:30 Thursday afternoon, but then the video feed mysteriously cuts off. Authorities say they believe Stein took an Uber to the Philadelphia airport where they assume he somehow gained access to the aircraft.
“The sea was angry that day,” said NTSB lead investigator Greg Fields in a press conference. “We have no idea where Mr. Stein may be, but any hope for a rescue is unlikely.”
Stein’s location isn’t the only mystery. It seems no one in his life knew his exact occupation.
His daughter, Alex Walsh of Wilmington appeared shocked by the news. “My dad couldn’t even fly a plane. He owned restaurants in Boulder, Colorado and knew every answer on Jeopardy. He did the New York Times crossword in pen. I talked to him that day and he told me he was going out to get some grappa. All he ever wanted was a glass of grappa.”
Stein’s brother, Jim echoed similar confusion. “Rick and I owned Stuart Kingston Galleries together. He was a jeweler and oriental rug dealer, not a pilot.” Meanwhile, Missel Leddington of Charlottesville claimed her brother was a cartoonist and freelance television critic for the New Yorker.
David Walsh, Stein’s son-in-law, said he was certain Stein was a political satirist for the Huffington Post while grandsons Drake and Sam said they believed Stein wrote an internet sports column for ESPN covering Duke basketball, FC Barcelona soccer, the Denver Broncos and the Tour de France. Stein’s granddaughter Evangeline claims he was a YouTube sensation who had just signed a seven-figure deal with Netflix.
When told of his uncle’s disappearance, Edward Stein said he was baffled since he believed Stein worked as a trail guide in Rocky Mountain National Park. “He took me on a hike up the Lily Peak Trail back in the 90s. He knew every berry, bush and tree on that trail.” Nephew James Stein of Los Angeles claimed his uncle was an A&R consultant for Bad Boy records and ran a chain of legal recreational marijuana dispensaries in Colorado called Casablunta. Niece Courtney Stein, a former Hollywood agent, said her uncle had worked as a contributing writer for Seinfeld and Curb Your Enthusiasm and was currently consulting on a new series with Larry David.
People who knew Stein have reported his occupation as everything from gourmet chef and sommelier to botanist, electrician, mechanic and even spy novelist. Police say the volume of contradictory information will make it nearly impossible to pinpoint Stein’s exact location.
In fact, the only person who might be able to answer the question, who is the real Rick Stein is his wife and constant companion for the past 14 years, Susan Stein. Detectives say they were unable to interview Mrs. Stein, however neighbors say they witnessed her leaving the home the couple shared wearing dark sunglasses and a fedora, loading multiple suitcases into her car. FAA records show she purchased a pair of one-way tickets to Rome which was Mr. Stein’s favorite city. An anonymous source with the airline reports the name used to book the other ticket was Juan Morefore DeRoad, which, according to the FBI, was an alias Stein used for many years.
That is one story.
Another story is that Rick never left the hospital and died peacefully with his wife and his daughter holding tightly to his hands.
You can choose which version you want to believe or share your own story about Rick with us at the Greenville Country Club on Friday, November 9, 2018 from 3:00-6:00pm.
It has been no secret the United States Army has been reviewing new weapon designs to maintain their efficiency and superiority in battle. The common prediction is sometime in the near future the troops may be switching to a 6.X millimeter rifle, but have recently accepted a new pistol, the Sig Sauer M17 (P320 in its civilian version) as a standard issue replacement for the Beretta, Glock, and a few other accepted brands of handgun.
The P320 is an exciting new fully ambidextrous weapon with a modular system which is easily able to change grip size to individual preference, caliber between most modern popular rounds, and barrel length for ease of use and overall accuracy.
The M17 received U.S. Army approval and passed military testing procedures to be included as a spec sidearm for troops armed with a pistol, and was recently followed by similar announcements from the Air Force, Navy, and Marines. The first round of Sig Sauers was issued to the 101st Airborne Division in November of 2017, and there are plans to purchase 421,000 more of the weapon between all four branches of the U.S. Armed Forces. The ultimate plan is for there to be a single handgun all military forces use so training and practice can be consistent for every soldier.
The M17 has a great trigger and good sights; I can’t tell a difference in performance or feel between the M-17 and the P320-M17. The contract specification for the M-17 was shooting a ten round four-inch group at 35 yards with crappy ball ammo which it will do all day. The civilian versions of the M-17 are just as accurate and fun to shoot. I have used a variety of heavy and light bullets in full metal jacket and hollow points. The 320-M17 fed them all.
The feel and the grip angle are like the rest of the P-320 family. The manual safety is ambidextrous and placed so that the thumb rides on it naturally when you assume a firing grip. The ambidextrous slide lock sits right in front of the safety. It takes a little getting used to, but it is ergonomic and easy to use.
There is some debate about external safeties. The MHS requirements specified a safety and the M-17 delivered. The M-1911 had a well-placed safety, the M-17 is better, inspired by competition modified civilian 1911s. There are a lot of things soldiers do, like individual movement techniques (Google it), which are fundamentally different than police or civilian applications. Military guns get banged and dropped and abused. Some soldiers jump out of airplanes wearing them. With training, a manual safety is no slower and provides an extra layer of protection. Nobody wants to get shot doing a PLF (Parachute Landing Fall).
The P320-M17 comes apart like any other SIG P-320. The original specifications for the XM-17 required a special tool to remove the takedown lever. This requirement was changed and now both the Army M-17s and the civilian variants have the same removable takedown lever as the P-320. The military M-17 and the Commemorative require a special tool to disassemble the slide. The trigger modules have the serial number and are completely removable.
Nathanael Blake is another NeverTrump-er who’s been forcibly converted by democrat outrageous behavior toward Brett Kavanaugh.
I have been radicalized. The enormity of the efforts by the Democrats and their media allies to destroy Brett Kavanaugh forced me to reconsider my views. The concerns I have about Trump’s character, temperament, and propensity to damage America’s cultural and political institutions are still there, but I am supporting him anyway.
It is not just that the Democrats have vitiated any claim to possess superior character or temperament (though they have), or that Trump’s policies have been better than I expected. I now support Trump because the Democratic Party and its media allies are controlled by people who view conservatives not as political opponents to be voted down, but as enemies to be personally destroyed.
Trump will say anything, but Democrats will do anything. They and their media allies smeared a universally respected judge with an impeccable record as a serial sexual predator on evidence that would not have justified an indictment. They repeatedly lied and hid evidence in order to create delay (e.g., Christine Blasey Ford’s supposed fear of flying).
In the end, the evidence against Kavanaugh consisted only of the dubious testimony of a woman who could not recall basic details like a time or a place, whose story changed repeatedly, and whose witnesses remembered nothing of what she claimed. But Democrats did their best to forever brand him as a sexual predator anyway. They did not want a serious, confidential investigation; they wanted to publicly grind him into the dirt while the mob howled for his head.
They wanted the circus, the smears, the insane rumors and allegations from cranks. They wanted the tabloid journalism from formerly respectable outlets like The New Yorker. If Kavanaugh refused to withdraw, then they wanted Ford on national television. They even wanted the lunatic claims from a nutcase dredged up by a creepy porn lawyer, alleging that Kavanaugh ran a gang-rape ring as a teen. Even as the sexual assault allegations against Kavanaugh collapsed, they switched to smears about his high school yearbook and college drinking.
With rare exceptions, the national media repeated every smear and Democratic talking point. They spent weeks trying to destroy Kavanaugh’s life and reputation with lies, then had the effrontery to sneer at his anger when he took umbrage at being labeled a gang-rape mastermind. Lushes from the soused D.C. media lectured Kavanaugh about his teenage drinking. They earned every bit of Trump’s “enemy of the people†and “fake news†epithets.
Kavanaugh was a normal establishment Republican pick. Destroying him had nothing to do with opposing Trump’s particular flaws. This was about annihilating anyone who gets in the Democrats’ way, especially anyone who threatens their illegitimate Supreme Court policy wins. It was a declaration of war on every conservative, no matter how respected, reasonable, and mainstream.
There is no refuge from this sort of totalizing, destructive politics. The Republican rejection of Merrick Garland was political hardball; the sliming of Kavanaugh was categorically different and much worse. The Democrats crossed the line from policy disagreement to personal destruction, and in doing so they nuked any middle ground between themselves and conservative Trump skeptics. And they put every conservative on notice: You could be next.
If the Democrats will do this to a man as respected and mainstream as Kavanaugh, they will do it to anyone who gets in their way.
I don’t see how Jennifer Rubin, Bill Kristol, Ron Radosh, Max Boot, and the like can possibly still deny the inevitable.
The United States is a two-party system. You’re either on one side, or you’re on the other. Besides which, even Donald Trump deserves a fair-minded approach to judgment. He’s made a lot of excellent appointments. He’s gotten through a tax cut. And he’s restored economic confidence, ending the Great Recession after eight long years. Trump may not deserve your full-throated enthusiasm, but he does deserve your support.
Hillary Clinton rejected calls for a return to civility in American politics during an interview on Tuesday, arguing instead that civility can only return once Democrats take back control of Congress.
“You cannot be civil with a political party that wants to destroy what you stand for, what you care about,†Clinton told CNN’s Christiane Amanpour. “That’s why I believe, if we are fortunate enough to win back the House and or the Senate, that’s when civility can start again. But until then, the only thing that the Republicans seem to recognize and respect is strength.â€
Wesley Pruden hears democrats singing their sad old songs.
The Democrats and the liberals were winning for so long that it never occurred to any of them that the good old days wouldn’t last forever. But the good old days didn’t, and now they’re as ill-tempered as the alligator the day the creek went dry.
Christopher Columbus (detail), from Alejo Fernández, La Virgen de los Navegantes, circa 1505 to 1536, Alcázares Reales de Sevilla.
In his magisterial biography, Admiral of the Ocean Sea, 1942, Samuel Elliot Morrison observes:
[Christopher Columbus did] more to direct the course of history than any individual since Augustus Caesar. …
The voyage that took him to “The Indies” and home was no blind chance, but the creation of his own brain and soul, long studied, carefully planned, repeatedly urged on indifferent princes, and carried through by virtue of his courage, sea-knowledge and indomitable will. No later voyage could ever have such spectacular results, and Columbus’s fame would have been secure had he retired from the sea in 1493. Yet a lofty ambition to explore further, to organize the territories won for Castile, and to complete the circuit of the globe, sent him thrice more to America. These voyages, even more than the first, proved him to be the greatest navigator of his age, and enabled him to train the captains and pilots who were to display the banners of Spain off every American cape and island between Fifty North and Fifty South. The ease with which he dissipated the unknown terrors of the Ocean, the skill with which he found his way out and home, again and again, led thousands of men from every Western European nation into maritime adventure and exploration.
The whole history of the Americas stem from the Four Voyages of Columbus; and as the Greek city-states looked back to the deathless gods as their founders, so today a score of independent nations and dominions unite in homage to Christopher the stout-hearted son of Genoa, who carried Christian civilization across the Ocean Sea.
If anybody doubts that #MeToo Feminism amounts to witch-hunting, he just needs to read this article in Slate, describing (with avidity) how Yale Law Professor Jed Rubenfeld (husband of “Tiger Mom” Amy Chua) needed to be investigated for making a young lady “uncomfortable” through personal conversations or by complimenting her (!) The beast!
One afternoon late in her first year at Yale Law School, Linda sat down to create a contemporaneous record of a conversation she’d had the night before. She’d met with one of her professors, Jed Rubenfeld, in his office after hours at his suggestion, following repeated attempts to see him in the afternoon about a paper she was working on for him. Rubenfeld had made her uncomfortable throughout the year, commenting on her appearance and asking her about his. While friends had told her she had reason to feel creeped out by his behavior, Linda wondered whether she was being too sensitive and agreed to the 8 p.m. meeting. She really needed to make progress on the paper, after all. But given the queasy feeling she already had, she asked her partner to pick her up that night, and to come looking for her if he hadn’t heard from her after a reasonable amount of time.
Per Linda’s record, written the next day and shared with us recently, her conversation with Rubenfeld that evening quickly veered away from her paper. The professor asked her, “Why aren’t you married?†When Linda tried to steer the conversation to safe ground—mentioning how young she was and inquiring about his own marriage to fellow Yale Law School professor Amy Chua—Rubenfeld brought the focus back to her. He asked if she’d been the smartest girl in her high school, then if she’d been the prettiest. When she again deflected, he asked if her smarts had made things tough with the guys in school. The conversation meandered from there and never returned to her paper. Eventually, Rubenfeld said they should get going. By the time they left, Linda’s partner had come to look for her.
Linda, who today is a recent YLS alum, spent the rest of that academic year agonizing over what to do about her uncomfortable interactions with Rubenfeld, and experiencing more of them. One in particular sticks out: The Saturday night after exams wrapped up, Rubenfeld called her cellphone—the first time he had ever done that, she says. He said they’d never gotten a chance to talk about that paper and asked if she was free to do that now. Linda said she was busy preparing to leave New Haven and couldn’t meet, but said she was happy to talk on the phone. They had what Linda describes as a 30-second conversation about the paper before Rubenfeld quickly ended the call, saying he’d see her in September.
That summer, Linda spoke to Yale Law School’s Title IX coordinator. (Linda is a pseudonym, and to preserve her anonymity, we have chosen not to name the Title IX coordinator at the time, as it would identify her class year.) Her goal was twofold: She wanted to start a paper trail about Rubenfeld’s behavior, and she was looking for advice on what her options were for engaging the school’s Title IX process, the government-mandated means of investigating and stopping gender-based discrimination. According to Linda, the Title IX coordinator at the time told her at the very beginning of the call that if Linda named the professor during their conversation and the allegations were sufficiently serious, the coordinator would have to file a formal report. Once that process began, the coordinator said, Linda’s anonymity could not be guaranteed.
This was several years before #MeToo, and the prevailing wisdom at the time was that women should just lean in and push through when things got weird.
This put Linda in an enormously tough position. Schools need to protect the accused as well as the accusers, so it makes sense that Yale would ask women, or anyone alleging misbehavior, to attach their names to allegations. But it also makes sense that attaching her name would be incredibly difficult for Linda: Rubenfeld hadn’t just advised her on a paper. He also taught one of her courses, and he’d been her “small group†professor during the fall semester. (At Yale, each first-year law student is assigned to a 16- or 17-person small group. Those students take all of their courses together, including one course with just their group that’s led by one professor.) Until that April late-night meeting, Linda had generally considered Rubenfeld her advocate. She was counting on him to be one of her references on her clerkship applications, which she needed to submit soon after returning to campus in the fall. She worried that if she made a report or even told the Title IX coordinator his name, it could get back to Rubenfeld and she’d lose his support. This could undermine her chance to earn a prestigious clerkship with a federal judge—which would then make it harder for her to continue to pursue competitive opportunities, like the holy grail for Yale Law School students: a clerkship on the Supreme Court.
Linda was left with two terrible options: She could protect her clerkship prospects by subjecting herself to more unwelcome flirtation, or she could ask Yale to investigate Rubenfeld.
When I was at Yale, I had a professor who had a wonderful voice and a superb accent in the poetry of another language. His seminar was filled with gorgeous female grad students beautiful enough to be models, who were commonly visibly aroused, breathing heavily, as he read aloud. He was a lady-killer, with a glint in his eye. The girls adored him, and he made one of them after another his lover. I suspect he left behind a lot of happy memories, but, it’s a good thing he’s gone. Boy! they’d string him up today.
