Saturday, August 14, 2004
It's official....
Confessions of a Link Whore; or, Blogger's Been Bery Bery Good to Me
Post number twenty four hundred and ninety-seven. Hard to freaking believe. I started about a dozen blogs that never lasted a day before I hit on the Llamabutchers forumula: having a steady and reliable co-author in Robb-O. On our best days, we've got this weird Vladimir Horowitz/Jerry Lee Lewis thing going which is a lot of fun. The fact that people actually come by to read it is just frosting: the best thing about blogging so far is having that daily dialogue with one of my best friends.
So, we're leaving blogger for good. Now to many people, having "blogspot" in your URL is the equivalent of putting "CRACKHOUSE" on your current address line on a job application. There are certain places we don't talk about in correct company: Sudan, the back of Bill Clinton's pick-up truck, and blogspot.
Truth be told, to coopt the old Garrett Morris line from SNL, "Blogger's been bery bery good to me." As is clear from the post below, I'm cheap: I don't want to pay when I can get something equally good for free. Now, the magic all falls into how you define "equally good" and for me, for this weird hobby that blogging is, that's what it has been.
Precisely because there is no entrance fee is part of the secret of the revolution in American politics and media being unleashed by Big Blogging. Any old jackass can do it. All you need is a voice and consistency. A copy of photoshop helps.
So we are moving, to the strange little universe of Munivinia--the mu.nu URL suffix. Why? Because they were nice enough to invite us, and, well, it's not costing us anything.
Post number twenty four hundred and ninety-seven. Hard to freaking believe. I started about a dozen blogs that never lasted a day before I hit on the Llamabutchers forumula: having a steady and reliable co-author in Robb-O. On our best days, we've got this weird Vladimir Horowitz/Jerry Lee Lewis thing going which is a lot of fun. The fact that people actually come by to read it is just frosting: the best thing about blogging so far is having that daily dialogue with one of my best friends.
So, we're leaving blogger for good. Now to many people, having "blogspot" in your URL is the equivalent of putting "CRACKHOUSE" on your current address line on a job application. There are certain places we don't talk about in correct company: Sudan, the back of Bill Clinton's pick-up truck, and blogspot.
Truth be told, to coopt the old Garrett Morris line from SNL, "Blogger's been bery bery good to me." As is clear from the post below, I'm cheap: I don't want to pay when I can get something equally good for free. Now, the magic all falls into how you define "equally good" and for me, for this weird hobby that blogging is, that's what it has been.
Precisely because there is no entrance fee is part of the secret of the revolution in American politics and media being unleashed by Big Blogging. Any old jackass can do it. All you need is a voice and consistency. A copy of photoshop helps.
So we are moving, to the strange little universe of Munivinia--the mu.nu URL suffix. Why? Because they were nice enough to invite us, and, well, it's not costing us anything.
No particular title for this post
I've been away from the blog since Tuesday, and our old pal INDCent Bill is having fun razzing my laziness in the comments section of the last post. Fair enough, and quite in keeping with the usual back and forth banter via email, but there's been a whole lot of stuff going on that I just want to unload in one post.
First is that I hate August. Hate's perhaps the wrong word, I try not to hate anything (as it's quite a destructive emotion). Rather, August is always a trying month in ways that I can account for, but also in ways that I cannot fathom. I can account for the "back to school blues," the sense of let down that summer didn't live up to the mountainous expectations of the spring. This was a very good summer: lots of fun family time, a bountiful return from the garden, a great trip to the beach, really no complaints. But still, there's something about August for me that has always spelled "nevermore," and to be perfectly honest I don't know why. This weekend is always particularly hard as it's the time for the Mystic Art Show in Mystic CT. Growing up, and then in high school and college summer jobs, the Art Show weekend was the huge end of the summer event, measured in shear volume of visitors to the area and guests coming by. In college, it usually signalled the beginning of the exodus of friends away. I remember once, it might have been my freshman or sophomore year in high school, having dinner with my family and my grandparents in the Bee-Bee Dairy on a tuesday, the day after Labor Day, and a tumbleweed might as well have been blowing down the middle of the street in Mystic. Quite a contrast to a few weeks before. This is also the time the first leaves start to begin to change. Maybe I'm just getting old.
This week we came back from our trip to Ithacam NY. It was a fabulously good time and the kids were great, but basically just lost it about half way into a 9 hour car ride. Just. lost. it. That was Wednesday, and basically it wasn't until last evening that I suddenly realized I hadn't had to raise my voice or parcel out any punishments in a couple of hours. I'm the primary discpline guy in our house, and while I really don't like it, the alternative is not worth it. It's one of the prices of the job, I guess. Bascially, all has been quiet on the behavior front for about 24 hours, so I think we're settled back into the normal routines. It's easy to forget as a grown-up with all your cares and worries that sometimes it's not easy being 5 1/2.
The other big headache around here is financial. Actually, the problem's all in my head, in that every once in awhile my brain goes into Gimble Lock on matters. Yesterday, the notary came out for us to sign papers as we were refinancing the mortgage. My wife's a CPA by training, and so everything's straight and cool---it's just seeing all that spelled out on someone else's paper still is enough to freak me out. I was born in 1966, but somehow as a kid I had the read-only-memory buffer in my brain permanently imprinted by my older relatives with Great Depression stories. Basically, I'm hardwired not only as an uptight, Calvinistic Connecticut Yankee, but with sensors permanently set on "economic catastrophe is a comin'." I don't like debt, and my wife likes to joke that it's nearly impossible to get me to go out and buy anything more expensive than, say, a pair of pants without multiple store visits and suitable mullings over. She's wont to say "God won't hate you and smack you down for wearing a new paper of Dockers, dear." So far she's been right, but you never know....
This fun is compounded by the fact that we are buying a new car. As you can imagine, I'm about as much fun to car shop with as John Goodman in a Whole Foods. The car we're replacing is mine---a fourteen year old Volvo wagon with close to 200K miles, but that's starting to become unreliable. I can strand myself, yes: but if I strand my car pool, I'm toast. We've been looking at three cars: a Subaru Forester, a Volvo sedan and a volvo wagon. Truth be told, if price were no issue (which means if they tripled my Wellbutrin meds) I would want to get a Saab. But I can't bring myself to do it. (Yeah, I know, that's weird as well as pathetic. Waaaaaaaaa.)
The last thing mulling around here is getting the new place up and running. The frustration for me has been having to learn to think in terms of stylesheets: I have done a lot of HTML design quite well, but I've always thought from a design perspective in terms of tables. It's been a pain because it's like learning a new language that's enough like the old one but the grammar is completely different. One way or another, though, we're moving.
So, that's what's kicking around my head the last couple of days. That, plus I'm trying to finish this conference paper that's been a real slog to get the words to come together. Sometimes writing is the most frustrating thing in the world.
So that's me, Mr. Vegas. How's everything in your world?
I've been away from the blog since Tuesday, and our old pal INDCent Bill is having fun razzing my laziness in the comments section of the last post. Fair enough, and quite in keeping with the usual back and forth banter via email, but there's been a whole lot of stuff going on that I just want to unload in one post.
First is that I hate August. Hate's perhaps the wrong word, I try not to hate anything (as it's quite a destructive emotion). Rather, August is always a trying month in ways that I can account for, but also in ways that I cannot fathom. I can account for the "back to school blues," the sense of let down that summer didn't live up to the mountainous expectations of the spring. This was a very good summer: lots of fun family time, a bountiful return from the garden, a great trip to the beach, really no complaints. But still, there's something about August for me that has always spelled "nevermore," and to be perfectly honest I don't know why. This weekend is always particularly hard as it's the time for the Mystic Art Show in Mystic CT. Growing up, and then in high school and college summer jobs, the Art Show weekend was the huge end of the summer event, measured in shear volume of visitors to the area and guests coming by. In college, it usually signalled the beginning of the exodus of friends away. I remember once, it might have been my freshman or sophomore year in high school, having dinner with my family and my grandparents in the Bee-Bee Dairy on a tuesday, the day after Labor Day, and a tumbleweed might as well have been blowing down the middle of the street in Mystic. Quite a contrast to a few weeks before. This is also the time the first leaves start to begin to change. Maybe I'm just getting old.
This week we came back from our trip to Ithacam NY. It was a fabulously good time and the kids were great, but basically just lost it about half way into a 9 hour car ride. Just. lost. it. That was Wednesday, and basically it wasn't until last evening that I suddenly realized I hadn't had to raise my voice or parcel out any punishments in a couple of hours. I'm the primary discpline guy in our house, and while I really don't like it, the alternative is not worth it. It's one of the prices of the job, I guess. Bascially, all has been quiet on the behavior front for about 24 hours, so I think we're settled back into the normal routines. It's easy to forget as a grown-up with all your cares and worries that sometimes it's not easy being 5 1/2.
The other big headache around here is financial. Actually, the problem's all in my head, in that every once in awhile my brain goes into Gimble Lock on matters. Yesterday, the notary came out for us to sign papers as we were refinancing the mortgage. My wife's a CPA by training, and so everything's straight and cool---it's just seeing all that spelled out on someone else's paper still is enough to freak me out. I was born in 1966, but somehow as a kid I had the read-only-memory buffer in my brain permanently imprinted by my older relatives with Great Depression stories. Basically, I'm hardwired not only as an uptight, Calvinistic Connecticut Yankee, but with sensors permanently set on "economic catastrophe is a comin'." I don't like debt, and my wife likes to joke that it's nearly impossible to get me to go out and buy anything more expensive than, say, a pair of pants without multiple store visits and suitable mullings over. She's wont to say "God won't hate you and smack you down for wearing a new paper of Dockers, dear." So far she's been right, but you never know....
This fun is compounded by the fact that we are buying a new car. As you can imagine, I'm about as much fun to car shop with as John Goodman in a Whole Foods. The car we're replacing is mine---a fourteen year old Volvo wagon with close to 200K miles, but that's starting to become unreliable. I can strand myself, yes: but if I strand my car pool, I'm toast. We've been looking at three cars: a Subaru Forester, a Volvo sedan and a volvo wagon. Truth be told, if price were no issue (which means if they tripled my Wellbutrin meds) I would want to get a Saab. But I can't bring myself to do it. (Yeah, I know, that's weird as well as pathetic. Waaaaaaaaa.)
The last thing mulling around here is getting the new place up and running. The frustration for me has been having to learn to think in terms of stylesheets: I have done a lot of HTML design quite well, but I've always thought from a design perspective in terms of tables. It's been a pain because it's like learning a new language that's enough like the old one but the grammar is completely different. One way or another, though, we're moving.
So, that's what's kicking around my head the last couple of days. That, plus I'm trying to finish this conference paper that's been a real slog to get the words to come together. Sometimes writing is the most frustrating thing in the world.
So that's me, Mr. Vegas. How's everything in your world?
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
I'm taking the risk here of Jello Biafra coming to my house personally and kicking my ass
The beatings I'm willing to take to keep you guys happy!
[Note to INDCent Bill and other youngsters: a long, long, time ago in a place far, far away, there was this really cool punk band named the Dead Kennedys.....]
The beatings I'm willing to take to keep you guys happy!
[Note to INDCent Bill and other youngsters: a long, long, time ago in a place far, far away, there was this really cool punk band named the Dead Kennedys.....]
Llama Vacation Blogging
Okay, this is post #2495, so I'll let Steve-O turn over the meter, thereby inaugurating our move to the new digs. I'd only ask Steve to remember that we've blogrolled a bunch of new folks since he last played over there, so we probably need to redo the new blogroll. (And I still owe some new names, as well.)
Gosh, is it Tuesday already? Time flies. My exit Friday afternoon from my old firm was enlivened by a bomb threat that cleared the building. I dashed for the garage and got my car out, rather than having to stand on a street corner for an hour waiting for the police to call us back in. But it put something of a crimp in the traditional round of goodbyes.
In the meantime, I spent a great part of the weekend installing nylon netting around the base of my garden fence. If this doesn't stop the Wraith Rabbits, I'm buying that Daisy air rifle, regardless of what the Missus might say.
Yesterday as I was mowing the lawn, I saw a cool sight: Hearing a momentous roar overhead, I looked up in time to see a B-2 Stealth Bomber cruise by. Awesome. I've never seen one before. We live in the flight path of commercial jets heading into Reagan National (at least when the wind is in the South). In fact, the last time I saw military planes over our house was after 9/11 when fighters were doing CAP circuits over the Potomac Valley. This guy was heading north and climbing. Don't know where he was going. Also, these things may be radar-stealthy, but dayum are they noisy!
So we're off to the Hamptons in the morning. It's under 6 hours from here if the traffic isn't too bad - I think my record time is 5 hours and change. I lose a bit of time because, being afraid of heights and bridges, I'm too much of a coward to cut the corner and cross the Verrezanno Narrows. We go up and around via the George Washington and the Throg's Neck bridges to the Long Island Expressway. It adds a bit of time, but to me it's worth it.
The weather forecast says another early front is coming through, with storms the next couple days and they highs in the 70's at the beach. Perfect. I'm bringing a couple extra books in anticipation of the rain.
Well, I probably won't do much more posting until I get back a week from tomorrow. In the meantime, I hope all y'all are getting some down time in as well and look forward to coming back tanned, ready and rested.
Yip at you later!
Okay, this is post #2495, so I'll let Steve-O turn over the meter, thereby inaugurating our move to the new digs. I'd only ask Steve to remember that we've blogrolled a bunch of new folks since he last played over there, so we probably need to redo the new blogroll. (And I still owe some new names, as well.)
Gosh, is it Tuesday already? Time flies. My exit Friday afternoon from my old firm was enlivened by a bomb threat that cleared the building. I dashed for the garage and got my car out, rather than having to stand on a street corner for an hour waiting for the police to call us back in. But it put something of a crimp in the traditional round of goodbyes.
In the meantime, I spent a great part of the weekend installing nylon netting around the base of my garden fence. If this doesn't stop the Wraith Rabbits, I'm buying that Daisy air rifle, regardless of what the Missus might say.
Yesterday as I was mowing the lawn, I saw a cool sight: Hearing a momentous roar overhead, I looked up in time to see a B-2 Stealth Bomber cruise by. Awesome. I've never seen one before. We live in the flight path of commercial jets heading into Reagan National (at least when the wind is in the South). In fact, the last time I saw military planes over our house was after 9/11 when fighters were doing CAP circuits over the Potomac Valley. This guy was heading north and climbing. Don't know where he was going. Also, these things may be radar-stealthy, but dayum are they noisy!
So we're off to the Hamptons in the morning. It's under 6 hours from here if the traffic isn't too bad - I think my record time is 5 hours and change. I lose a bit of time because, being afraid of heights and bridges, I'm too much of a coward to cut the corner and cross the Verrezanno Narrows. We go up and around via the George Washington and the Throg's Neck bridges to the Long Island Expressway. It adds a bit of time, but to me it's worth it.
The weather forecast says another early front is coming through, with storms the next couple days and they highs in the 70's at the beach. Perfect. I'm bringing a couple extra books in anticipation of the rain.
Well, I probably won't do much more posting until I get back a week from tomorrow. In the meantime, I hope all y'all are getting some down time in as well and look forward to coming back tanned, ready and rested.
Yip at you later!
Monday, August 09, 2004
Interesting days
Robbo won't like the analogy, but are we witnessing the Battle of Atlanta and the beginning of the March to the Sea phase of the War on Terror?
(I use that analogy because of the relevance of the Battle of Atlanta to the election of 1864.)
YIPS! from Robbo - You wrong me. In fact, I like the analogy a lot. Not only because I think it's apt, but also because my great, great grandfather served in the Atlanta Campaign as a lieutenant in the 10th Ohio Light Artillery. (Alas, he wasn't in the March to the Sea - his unit got posted to Marietta for the duration.)
Robbo won't like the analogy, but are we witnessing the Battle of Atlanta and the beginning of the March to the Sea phase of the War on Terror?
(I use that analogy because of the relevance of the Battle of Atlanta to the election of 1864.)
YIPS! from Robbo - You wrong me. In fact, I like the analogy a lot. Not only because I think it's apt, but also because my great, great grandfather served in the Atlanta Campaign as a lieutenant in the 10th Ohio Light Artillery. (Alas, he wasn't in the March to the Sea - his unit got posted to Marietta for the duration.)
Saturday, August 07, 2004
GO THUNDERBIRDS! Or, do your best impression of a dead Chicagoan voting for JFK I in 1960
INDCent Bill points us to this German poll about the election: visit and visit often, stuff the damn little ballot box. (Bush is up 58% to 33% at the moment). Meaningless? Absolutely. Designed to drive Peter Jennings nuts? Absolutely.
INDCent Bill points us to this German poll about the election: visit and visit often, stuff the damn little ballot box. (Bush is up 58% to 33% at the moment). Meaningless? Absolutely. Designed to drive Peter Jennings nuts? Absolutely.
Post number twenty four hundred and ninety one
One of the new little features blogger has installed is the post number indicator, which I guess is useful if you are busting out a steven den beste sort of jag and need to track down quickly what was that pithy quote on your piece about how Japanese anime when viewed backwards and upside down sheds light on the neo-Jacksonian strategy shift of the Corps in Fallujah, when viewed through the lens of the Phillipines guerilla war. Or something. But for us, it serves as a helpful milepost: Rob, let's do an even 2500 posts, and then make the move to moo.knew.
I've been on vacation since Wednesday: lots of waterskiing, trips to the science museum with the kids, paper mache dinosaur making (gotta love rainy day activities), outstanding crabcakes (made by yours truly) last night couple by a wicked gazpacho (I'll supply the recipe for anyone interested), and movies, lots and lots of movies.
Two recommendations: The Village and The Manchurian Candidate. Now for the latter, I was very skeptical going in, just on the principle that you cannot eff with one of the great works of MISTER Frank Sinatra. The original 1962 version is a truly great movie: creepy, eerie, provocative, stunning, bizarre, cool. Perfectly cast. Why mess with that? As Yoda would say, "Skeptical indeed was one." And I almost walked out in the first five minutes when limp puss sack Al Franken made an appearance. But.......what a payoff. Meryl Streep is in the Angela Lansbury role as the evil mom. Now, if your only experience with Angela Lansbury is "Murder She Wrote," well, dude, you just don't know Angela Lansbury. Trust Stevie on this. Amazingly, the makers of this movie actually paid attention to the original and while changing the premise of the villains, it plays tightly within the parameters of the original: the character's names, the rough sequence of events, the trips between New York and Washington on the train. One difference was that in this version it was clear that something was going on, that Major Marco wasn't just nuts. And how Meryl Streep channels Hillary: hairdo, dress, mannerisms, accent, ambition.....somebody obviously didn't give Mr. Franken the full script on this one.
The Village was excellent as well. I know many of the critics don't like it, but I think they are off base. When we are over on the new site next week, and we can go into the larger section type posts, I'll write more about this so that people who don't want a spoiler (and there are some doozies of course, it being a M. Night Shyamalan movie and all). But I think this one is a masterpiece that won't be as popular as The Sixth Sense (aka the post-modern ghost story) but in many ways is that much better.
Well, time to go as the rain has stopped.
One of the new little features blogger has installed is the post number indicator, which I guess is useful if you are busting out a steven den beste sort of jag and need to track down quickly what was that pithy quote on your piece about how Japanese anime when viewed backwards and upside down sheds light on the neo-Jacksonian strategy shift of the Corps in Fallujah, when viewed through the lens of the Phillipines guerilla war. Or something. But for us, it serves as a helpful milepost: Rob, let's do an even 2500 posts, and then make the move to moo.knew.
I've been on vacation since Wednesday: lots of waterskiing, trips to the science museum with the kids, paper mache dinosaur making (gotta love rainy day activities), outstanding crabcakes (made by yours truly) last night couple by a wicked gazpacho (I'll supply the recipe for anyone interested), and movies, lots and lots of movies.
Two recommendations: The Village and The Manchurian Candidate. Now for the latter, I was very skeptical going in, just on the principle that you cannot eff with one of the great works of MISTER Frank Sinatra. The original 1962 version is a truly great movie: creepy, eerie, provocative, stunning, bizarre, cool. Perfectly cast. Why mess with that? As Yoda would say, "Skeptical indeed was one." And I almost walked out in the first five minutes when limp puss sack Al Franken made an appearance. But.......what a payoff. Meryl Streep is in the Angela Lansbury role as the evil mom. Now, if your only experience with Angela Lansbury is "Murder She Wrote," well, dude, you just don't know Angela Lansbury. Trust Stevie on this. Amazingly, the makers of this movie actually paid attention to the original and while changing the premise of the villains, it plays tightly within the parameters of the original: the character's names, the rough sequence of events, the trips between New York and Washington on the train. One difference was that in this version it was clear that something was going on, that Major Marco wasn't just nuts. And how Meryl Streep channels Hillary: hairdo, dress, mannerisms, accent, ambition.....somebody obviously didn't give Mr. Franken the full script on this one.
The Village was excellent as well. I know many of the critics don't like it, but I think they are off base. When we are over on the new site next week, and we can go into the larger section type posts, I'll write more about this so that people who don't want a spoiler (and there are some doozies of course, it being a M. Night Shyamalan movie and all). But I think this one is a masterpiece that won't be as popular as The Sixth Sense (aka the post-modern ghost story) but in many ways is that much better.
Well, time to go as the rain has stopped.
Friday, August 06, 2004
Set The Way-Back Machine, Sherman!
Sheila has another question for us. If you had a Time Machine, what five times and/or places in history would you like to go visit?
Here are some of mine, right off the top of my head and in no particular order:
-Augustan Rome
-London and Vienna in the 1780's/90's. (Amongst other things, I would go to every single Mozart and Haydn concert I could)
-The Battle of Mount Baden, where King Arthur routed the Saxons (assuming it really happened)
-The raising of the Siege of Vienna in 1685, where the Pole Jon Sobieski led a genuine last minute surprise cavalry charge to defeat the Turk (echoes of the Ride of the Rohirrim?)
-The Restoration of Charles the Second
This one is worth thinking about more, but I've got to run....
Sheila has another question for us. If you had a Time Machine, what five times and/or places in history would you like to go visit?
Here are some of mine, right off the top of my head and in no particular order:
-Augustan Rome
-London and Vienna in the 1780's/90's. (Amongst other things, I would go to every single Mozart and Haydn concert I could)
-The Battle of Mount Baden, where King Arthur routed the Saxons (assuming it really happened)
-The raising of the Siege of Vienna in 1685, where the Pole Jon Sobieski led a genuine last minute surprise cavalry charge to defeat the Turk (echoes of the Ride of the Rohirrim?)
-The Restoration of Charles the Second
This one is worth thinking about more, but I've got to run....
A Friday Political Hot-Button Meme
I've seen this both at Impenetrable Prose and Reflections in D minor. If all the cool kids are doing it, I've got to jump in:
1. I have never voted for a Democrat in my life. Not true. We used to live down the street from the senior Donk in the Virginia House of Delegates. A real nice guy - I used to chat about gardening with him. One year, the Republican running against him was, I'm sorry, a real dick. I couldn't go with that.
2. I think my taxes are too high. Uh, yeah. Today's WSJ, as a matter of fact, carries an editorial suggesting that the best way to reform the tax code is to abolish withholdings. Let everyone write a big ol' fat check to Uncle every year to know exactly what they're paying. Buh-lieve me, you'd see a groundswell for lower rates pretty damn fast.
3. I supported Bill Clinton's impeachment. Yes, but perhaps not as gung-holy (is that a word) as some people. And I kinda figured it was doomed in the Senate.
4. I voted for President Bush in 2000. You bet.
5. I am a gun owner. I really don't know. My father keeps a number of shotguns that are technically "mine" - presents and so on - but I don't have any in the house.
6. I support school voucher programs. I certainly support the concept. And I am gob-smacked by the limousine liberals around here who send their kids off to 20K + per year elementary schools and then tell the poor that they should just deal with the public system and shut up already.
7. I oppose condom distribution in public schools. I've never understood the logic of "Well, you really shouldn't do it, but if you do...." Too much nudge-nudge, wink-wink about it.
8. I oppose bilingual education. So far as it prevents assimilation into the English-speaking culture, absolutely.
9. I oppose gay marriage. Yes, on grounds of faith and tradition. But I do not oppose legal recognition of civil unions.
10. I want Social Security privatized. Social Security is doomed. It's a simple matter of population mathematics. So we'd better think of something pretty creative to ward off the crunch. It's a generally sound proposition that people make better choices when their own money is involved.
11. I believe racial profiling at airports is common sense. Again, I believe in the concept. Sure, we have to watch out for abuse, but to jettison the whole thing over fears of "insensitivity" strikes me as fool-hearty in a time of war.
12. I shop at Wal-Mart. Sometimes.
13. I enjoy talk radio. I very rarely hear any of it.
14. I am annoyed when news editors substitute the phrase "undocumented person" for "illegal alien." PC-Speak as a whole gives me the guts-ache.
15. I do not believe the phrase "a chink in the armor" is offensive. Is this really an issue? I do believe anyone who would take offense at this phrase is a moron.
16. I eat meat. Mmmmmmmm....meeat....AAauguhggwgag!!!!!!
17. I believe O.J. Simpson was guilty. No way! Bitch set him up!
18. I cheered when I learned that Saddam Hussein had been captured. Well, I was very pleased.
19. I cry when I hear "Proud to be an American" (God Bless the USA) by Lee Greenwood. No, I think it's a little hokey. Of the crop of post-9/11 patriotic country songs, my two favorite probably are "Have You Forgotten" and "Letters from Home".
20. I don't believe the New York Times. I think they even fudge the weather forcasts.
UPDATE: The Queen of All Evil weighs in. And apparently this all started with Michelle Malkin. (Perhaps I should have known.)
FURTHER UPDATE: Just to complete the Web's McMillan & Wife combo, here are Dean's answers.
I've seen this both at Impenetrable Prose and Reflections in D minor. If all the cool kids are doing it, I've got to jump in:
1. I have never voted for a Democrat in my life. Not true. We used to live down the street from the senior Donk in the Virginia House of Delegates. A real nice guy - I used to chat about gardening with him. One year, the Republican running against him was, I'm sorry, a real dick. I couldn't go with that.
Steve:I've pulled both levers. I voted for Joe Lieberman (over that puss nut Lowell Weicker) in 1988 for Senate, for Virgil Goode for the House (before he switched), and some local elections where the parties really have no ties to the national organization.
2. I think my taxes are too high. Uh, yeah. Today's WSJ, as a matter of fact, carries an editorial suggesting that the best way to reform the tax code is to abolish withholdings. Let everyone write a big ol' fat check to Uncle every year to know exactly what they're paying. Buh-lieve me, you'd see a groundswell for lower rates pretty damn fast.
Steve:Yeah, but I'm a congenital whiner that way. On instinct I think that lower taxes and regulations are better economically over the long haul, but hey, that's what they taught us in the Young Hayek Pioneers.
3. I supported Bill Clinton's impeachment. Yes, but perhaps not as gung-holy (is that a word) as some people. And I kinda figured it was doomed in the Senate.
Steve:Perjury and obstruction of justice are felonies; felonies are "high crimes." The situation that caused the perjury and obstruction do not matter.
4. I voted for President Bush in 2000. You bet.
Steve:Yes, and I think I swayed a half dozen our so normally donkey votes for Nader. Ahh, the power of radio. (Insert Scooby Doo laugh here....)
5. I am a gun owner. I really don't know. My father keeps a number of shotguns that are technically "mine" - presents and so on - but I don't have any in the house.
Steve:If the general category is "guns" instead of "firearms" yes, we do: my wife owns about six glue guns, one an automatic make that Chuck Schumer has been trying to get off the streets for years. Heck, she even sold one last year to a neighbor, so that would make her an unlicensed gun dealer.
That said, I'm a big believer that if you read the first amendment (as the Court has done) to include topless dancing as "expressive artistic and commerical speech," than you can't take an excessively narrow reading of the second amendment to include only Brown Bess flintlocks kept at the local arsenal. My pet peeve, however, is one amendment further: I'm the world's biggest third amendment absolutist.
6. I support school voucher programs. I certainly support the concept. And I am gob-smacked by the limousine liberals around here who send their kids off to 20K + per year elementary schools and then tell the poor that they should just deal with the public system and shut up already.
Steve:Yes.
7. I oppose condom distribution in public schools. I've never understood the logic of "Well, you really shouldn't do it, but if you do...." Too much nudge-nudge, wink-wink about it.
Steve:Hello? This has to be one of the stupidist public policies yet developed. Why not give out free lighters as well---"hey, you know smoking is bad for you, but hey, you're teenagers, so here's a free Zippo..."
8. I oppose bilingual education. So far as it prevents assimilation into the English-speaking culture, absolutely.
Steve:If it means getting francais out of the classroom, I'm all for it! Seriously, I think this was a very well intentioned policy that was stunningly stupid and arrogant in its inception and has been a complete and total disaster. But then again, that's just me, Mr. Vegas.
9. I oppose gay marriage. Yes, on grounds of faith and tradition. But I do not oppose legal recognition of civil unions.
Steve:No. But that also means that the state can't ban polygamy either (not that I'm interested in that, but rather if the state can't ban consenting adults from marrying, the state can't ban consenting adults from marrying. Sorry, Sully, it's a pandora's box you've opened.
10. I want Social Security privatized. Social Security is doomed. It's a simple matter of population mathematics. So we'd better think of something pretty creative to ward off the crunch. It's a generally sound proposition that people make better choices when their own money is involved.
Steve:Yes, for the baby boomers and under. The older folks are grandfathered in, literally. But for the rest of us, it's an intergenerational ponzi scheme and I'll be damned if I'm going to be shovelling my hard earned money to some fat and lazy Escallade driving baby boomer whining about how the latest botox treatments are not covered by Medicare. Thanks a boat load, Dr. Spock, you useless twerp who unleashed that generation of whiners on us.
11. I believe racial profiling at airports is common sense. Again, I believe in the concept. Sure, we have to watch out for abuse, but to jettison the whole thing over fears of "insensitivity" strikes me as fool-hearty in a time of war.
Steve:No, I believe profiling of potential terrorists at airports is common sense, which is a huge difference from racial profiling which I think is an inefficient waste of policing resources.
12. I shop at Wal-Mart. Sometimes.
Steve:For the once yearly new underwear/socks/gym shorts/t-shirts run. Sorry if that was too much information.
13. I enjoy talk radio. I very rarely hear any of it.
Steve:No, I don't listen to talk radio generally because since I do a fair amount of it as a guest, I don't want to pick up stuff by osmosis and become derivative. I love doing call in shows--there's nothing quite like the rush of it as you have absolutely no idea of what's coming next.
14. I am annoyed when news editors substitute the phrase "undocumented person" for "illegal alien." PC-Speak as a whole gives me the guts-ache.
Steve:News editors? I don't listen to NPR anymore, I don't watch tee-vee news, I read blogs and about 20-30 different newspapers (foreign and domestic), so no, I'm not annoyed because I completely bypass them. And hopefully, that annoys THEM.
15. I do not believe the phrase "a chink in the armor" is offensive. Is this really an issue? I do believe anyone who would take offense at this phrase is a moron.
Steve:Grow up. However, there are whole sets of words that have certain sounds in them that I no longer use at all for fear of having them misheard. I have a eastern Connecticut accent with a deviated septum to boot, so I have a distinctive sound pattern, and life's just too short to do otherwise. Does this bother me? No.
16. I eat meat. Mmmmmmmm....meeat....AAauguhggwgag!!!!!!
Steve:Yes.
17. I believe O.J. Simpson was guilty. No way! Bitch set him up!
Steve:Yes, although it's quite possible that his eldest son did it.
18. I cheered when I learned that Saddam Hussein had been captured. Well, I was very pleased.
Steve:Yes, although I was displeased the local population didn't get a chance to give him the Mussolini treatment.
19. I cry when I hear "Proud to be an American" (God Bless the USA) by Lee Greenwood. No, I think it's a little hokey. Of the crop of post-9/11 patriotic country songs, my two favorite probably are "Have You Forgotten" and "Letters from Home".
Steve:No, but I've cried to Springsteen's "The Rising." And I have to leave the kitchen every morning for fear of seeing the digital clock o n the stove register "9:11" That still freaks the bejeebus out of me.
20. I don't believe the New York Times. I think they even fudge the weather forcasts.
Steve:Screw the NYT and the horse they rode in on. Their day is over. And history will remember Arthur Schlessinger Jr. only as an ideological hack, if he's remembered at all.
UPDATE: The Queen of All Evil weighs in. And apparently this all started with Michelle Malkin. (Perhaps I should have known.)
FURTHER UPDATE: Just to complete the Web's McMillan & Wife combo, here are Dean's answers.
Llama Senior Week - Zero Hour
Well, it's getting on towards time for me to finally clear out of my office. What is politely deemed my "exit interview" is scheduled for 2:00 pm. In the meantime, there's not that much else for me to do except cart a few posters down to my car.
I was trying again to figure out why I am so tired last evening and it finally sank in on me that, on top of everything else that has been going on, I need a vacation. Badly. Haven't had one in a year. Well, as of later this afternoon, I get two delicious weeks off, made even more so by the fact that I am starting fresh at my new DOJ gig when I get back. That ought to recharge the batteries some.
Next Wednesday we're off to the beach to stay at my wife's grandmother's bungalow. It's in the Hamptons, about 10 miles or so from Sag Harbor, right on the beach of Shelter Bay. ("Beach" is a slight misnomer here. It is a beach, in that it borders Long Island Sound, but it's all rocky and you have to wear shoes. If you want real sand beach, you have to go across to Southampton on the Atlantic side. Fortunately, we have access to a seasonal parking pass, so we'll probably spend some time there as well.) This place is perfect for simply lolling around and not doing much of anything, which is just what I want. The only drawback is that there is no air-conditioning. Not a problem during the day, since there is almost always a breeze, but sometimes in August you will get a very still, foggy night that is so hot as to be maddening, where it almost makes more sense to sleep outside than in. Hopefully, we won't have to deal with that.
Anyway, from your point of view, the important part is that I will be computer free during that time, so no blogging. (Try and contain your grief.) Between now and then (and after our return) I will be blogging from my favorite combo of dial-up and AOL at home. It is a royal pain in the ass to try and link on this dinosaur of a system, so I will probably confine myself to more "homespun" essays about life around the Butcher's House, as well as music, movie and book reviews. (If traffic drops away to nothing during that time, I'll know exactly what you think of this kind of post.)
But boy, what a fall you're in for! Steve-O gets back at the end of next week (I think) and I go back on full Beltway Alert on the 23rd. And finally, after a long summer of promises, promises, we're going to switch this whole operation over to our new digs. (If you haven't had a peak at the new shop yet, be sure to go poke around. We're still fiddling with layout and whatnot and any comments about what you'd like to see there would be greatly appreciated.) Between my new adventures as a gov'mint lawyer, Steve-O's recharged and remedicated brain, getting acquainted with all our new MuNu friends and the upcoming election humdinger, we should have plenty of choice Tasty Bits (TM) for you to snack on. Yip! Yip! Yip!
Well, it's getting on towards time for me to finally clear out of my office. What is politely deemed my "exit interview" is scheduled for 2:00 pm. In the meantime, there's not that much else for me to do except cart a few posters down to my car.
I was trying again to figure out why I am so tired last evening and it finally sank in on me that, on top of everything else that has been going on, I need a vacation. Badly. Haven't had one in a year. Well, as of later this afternoon, I get two delicious weeks off, made even more so by the fact that I am starting fresh at my new DOJ gig when I get back. That ought to recharge the batteries some.
Next Wednesday we're off to the beach to stay at my wife's grandmother's bungalow. It's in the Hamptons, about 10 miles or so from Sag Harbor, right on the beach of Shelter Bay. ("Beach" is a slight misnomer here. It is a beach, in that it borders Long Island Sound, but it's all rocky and you have to wear shoes. If you want real sand beach, you have to go across to Southampton on the Atlantic side. Fortunately, we have access to a seasonal parking pass, so we'll probably spend some time there as well.) This place is perfect for simply lolling around and not doing much of anything, which is just what I want. The only drawback is that there is no air-conditioning. Not a problem during the day, since there is almost always a breeze, but sometimes in August you will get a very still, foggy night that is so hot as to be maddening, where it almost makes more sense to sleep outside than in. Hopefully, we won't have to deal with that.
Anyway, from your point of view, the important part is that I will be computer free during that time, so no blogging. (Try and contain your grief.) Between now and then (and after our return) I will be blogging from my favorite combo of dial-up and AOL at home. It is a royal pain in the ass to try and link on this dinosaur of a system, so I will probably confine myself to more "homespun" essays about life around the Butcher's House, as well as music, movie and book reviews. (If traffic drops away to nothing during that time, I'll know exactly what you think of this kind of post.)
But boy, what a fall you're in for! Steve-O gets back at the end of next week (I think) and I go back on full Beltway Alert on the 23rd. And finally, after a long summer of promises, promises, we're going to switch this whole operation over to our new digs. (If you haven't had a peak at the new shop yet, be sure to go poke around. We're still fiddling with layout and whatnot and any comments about what you'd like to see there would be greatly appreciated.) Between my new adventures as a gov'mint lawyer, Steve-O's recharged and remedicated brain, getting acquainted with all our new MuNu friends and the upcoming election humdinger, we should have plenty of choice Tasty Bits (TM) for you to snack on. Yip! Yip! Yip!
This Is Smart
Dubya takes a few steps to the side of the Swift Boat Veterans For Truth and their ad blitz against Kerry's Vietnam service. But even better, the White House takes the opportunity to bash all so-called 527 Groups, outfits that operate within the loopholes of campaign finance regulations. Most of these organizations, like MoveOn.org, are rabidly anti-Bush.
Jeff at Shape of Days parses out the press briefing, suggesting that the issue was teed up so that Bush's spokesman could smack it out of the park.
Well done, Scott McClellan.
Yips! to Katie of the Resplendent Mango.
Dubya takes a few steps to the side of the Swift Boat Veterans For Truth and their ad blitz against Kerry's Vietnam service. But even better, the White House takes the opportunity to bash all so-called 527 Groups, outfits that operate within the loopholes of campaign finance regulations. Most of these organizations, like MoveOn.org, are rabidly anti-Bush.
Jeff at Shape of Days parses out the press briefing, suggesting that the issue was teed up so that Bush's spokesman could smack it out of the park.
Well done, Scott McClellan.
Yips! to Katie of the Resplendent Mango.
"Crack Young Staff"?
Just like anyone else who appreciates good taste and rapier-like wit, I make a point of reading the Hatemonger's Quarterly every day. Not only are the HMQ's postings loaded down to the Plimsoll mark with generous helpings of said taste and wit, they are (or have been) a bright beacon to me in the otherwise stormy and fog-bound sea of Youth Politics. Surely, I have thought to myself many times, a "Crack Young Staff" with such a healthy frame of mind is a source of hope for all of us that the Younger Generation is not made up entirely of slackers, neo-hippies and other grungers.
Alas, my faith has been shaken. In today's post, the CYS dredges up the ghost of Milli Vanilli and their controversial fall in 1984. 1984! What real Young Person remembers 20 year old events? What real Young Person remembers 20 minute old events?
So I appeal directly to the Crack "Young" Staff: Please dispel my sneaking suspicion that you are really a pack of rapidly-approaching-middle-aged geezers like me! Please reaffirm that you are the Crack Young Staff that you purport to be! How, might you ask? Perhaps you can incorporate some hip, up-to-the-nanosecond "pop-culture" references into your next post, something that will go rocketing right over my head. For example, I see the name "Jessica Simpson" all the time, but haven't the remotest idea who she is. I couldn't name a current "hot" band if you paid me. I've never seen a single episode of any so-called "reality show" on the tee-vee. I don't know if "what up?" is still a correct greeting. Surely there is ample material here with which you can demonstrate that you are truly members of the Younger Generation.
Don't let me down! I love jewels such as PYWTTGOAWHDASW, but I revel in the notion that they proceed from the collective brains of a group of young'uns, most of whose peers can't get beyond the monosyllabic "Dude". Please keep that dream alive!
Just like anyone else who appreciates good taste and rapier-like wit, I make a point of reading the Hatemonger's Quarterly every day. Not only are the HMQ's postings loaded down to the Plimsoll mark with generous helpings of said taste and wit, they are (or have been) a bright beacon to me in the otherwise stormy and fog-bound sea of Youth Politics. Surely, I have thought to myself many times, a "Crack Young Staff" with such a healthy frame of mind is a source of hope for all of us that the Younger Generation is not made up entirely of slackers, neo-hippies and other grungers.
Alas, my faith has been shaken. In today's post, the CYS dredges up the ghost of Milli Vanilli and their controversial fall in 1984. 1984! What real Young Person remembers 20 year old events? What real Young Person remembers 20 minute old events?
So I appeal directly to the Crack "Young" Staff: Please dispel my sneaking suspicion that you are really a pack of rapidly-approaching-middle-aged geezers like me! Please reaffirm that you are the Crack Young Staff that you purport to be! How, might you ask? Perhaps you can incorporate some hip, up-to-the-nanosecond "pop-culture" references into your next post, something that will go rocketing right over my head. For example, I see the name "Jessica Simpson" all the time, but haven't the remotest idea who she is. I couldn't name a current "hot" band if you paid me. I've never seen a single episode of any so-called "reality show" on the tee-vee. I don't know if "what up?" is still a correct greeting. Surely there is ample material here with which you can demonstrate that you are truly members of the Younger Generation.
Don't let me down! I love jewels such as PYWTTGOAWHDASW, but I revel in the notion that they proceed from the collective brains of a group of young'uns, most of whose peers can't get beyond the monosyllabic "Dude". Please keep that dream alive!
Wow, What A Morning!
An incredibly beautiful day here in Your Nation's Capital, the kind that gives you some hope for the future after the tortures of summer - bright, cool, crisp, a keen wind whipping in from the northwest. Indeed, I think the cold front that came through yesterday can count as this year's first hint of fall.
It's awfully early this year. Usually, one doesn't expect a day like this for another three or four weeks.
Maybe it's a sign of an approaching Ice Age.
Or maybe it's Global Warming.
I dunno. But now I'm getting all worried. It's nice, yes. But perhaps it's too nice....
An incredibly beautiful day here in Your Nation's Capital, the kind that gives you some hope for the future after the tortures of summer - bright, cool, crisp, a keen wind whipping in from the northwest. Indeed, I think the cold front that came through yesterday can count as this year's first hint of fall.
It's awfully early this year. Usually, one doesn't expect a day like this for another three or four weeks.
Maybe it's a sign of an approaching Ice Age.
Or maybe it's Global Warming.
I dunno. But now I'm getting all worried. It's nice, yes. But perhaps it's too nice....
Thursday, August 05, 2004
Kerry's Alan Alda Moment
This is rapidly heading towards farce. Stand by for some serious poll number shifts.
In a speech today, Kerry vows to fight "a more sensitive war on terror".
I can just see it now. "Oh, Bin Laden. I'm very, very disappointed in your behavior. I know you're just acting out against us because we don't always listen the way we should, but your actions have just got a little too inappropriate. I think you need a time out in the Happy Corner to think about things."
Yips! to Allah, who has a link to the WaPo transcript.
This is rapidly heading towards farce. Stand by for some serious poll number shifts.
In a speech today, Kerry vows to fight "a more sensitive war on terror".
I can just see it now. "Oh, Bin Laden. I'm very, very disappointed in your behavior. I know you're just acting out against us because we don't always listen the way we should, but your actions have just got a little too inappropriate. I think you need a time out in the Happy Corner to think about things."
Yips! to Allah, who has a link to the WaPo transcript.
The Old Reliable
Just when you feel you're washing out and your audience is going to start saying it with tomatoes, Google comes to the rescue. I am, er, intrigued by the fact that we are No. 2 for "pics of butchers ham".
Well, with all due modesty, all I can say to whoever came here on that one is: you'll need a wide-angle lens.
Just when you feel you're washing out and your audience is going to start saying it with tomatoes, Google comes to the rescue. I am, er, intrigued by the fact that we are No. 2 for "pics of butchers ham".
Well, with all due modesty, all I can say to whoever came here on that one is: you'll need a wide-angle lens.
Another Llama Apology
Well, the good news is that I have virtually stripped my office of everything. I'm sitting here amid bare walls, stacks of docs to be tossed and a couple of boxes to be sent over to my new digs. As I had hoped, about the only thing I have to do tomorrow is turn in all my firm identity stuff and suffer through all the faux-chumminess of the farewell party.
The bad news is that I am fully aware that I've been throwing ducks the past couple of days, mostly posting very lame stuff that probably doesn't interest you all that much. For this, I feel I owe all of you an apology. We've worked hard to build this place up and I can't help feeling I've let everyone down a bit by serving up such weak material.
I suppose winding things down here after five years is having more of an impact on me than I had anticipated. The alternative explanation, that I haven't had a drink since last Sunday, I refuse to entertain since it makes me look rather pathetic.
Either way, I promise to try and buck up so as to deliver some genuine Llama keepers before I go on vacation.
Well, the good news is that I have virtually stripped my office of everything. I'm sitting here amid bare walls, stacks of docs to be tossed and a couple of boxes to be sent over to my new digs. As I had hoped, about the only thing I have to do tomorrow is turn in all my firm identity stuff and suffer through all the faux-chumminess of the farewell party.
The bad news is that I am fully aware that I've been throwing ducks the past couple of days, mostly posting very lame stuff that probably doesn't interest you all that much. For this, I feel I owe all of you an apology. We've worked hard to build this place up and I can't help feeling I've let everyone down a bit by serving up such weak material.
I suppose winding things down here after five years is having more of an impact on me than I had anticipated. The alternative explanation, that I haven't had a drink since last Sunday, I refuse to entertain since it makes me look rather pathetic.
Either way, I promise to try and buck up so as to deliver some genuine Llama keepers before I go on vacation.
Llama Yips!
We've had a goodish amount of traffic come over from Kesher Talk, a blog of all things Jewish, thanks to Judith Weiss, who linked Steve-O's Moore the Hutt photoshopping antics.
Thanks muchly and welcome to the Butcher's Shop!
We've had a goodish amount of traffic come over from Kesher Talk, a blog of all things Jewish, thanks to Judith Weiss, who linked Steve-O's Moore the Hutt photoshopping antics.
Thanks muchly and welcome to the Butcher's Shop!
Why Six Year Olds Don't Run The Space Program
We had a nice time at the water park yesterday but got cut a little short when a line of showers and storms rolled in. By the time we had gathered up all our things and were ready to head out into the parking lot, it was pouring. Standing under the tent at the entrance kiosk, I had the following conversation with my eldest:
We had a nice time at the water park yesterday but got cut a little short when a line of showers and storms rolled in. By the time we had gathered up all our things and were ready to head out into the parking lot, it was pouring. Standing under the tent at the entrance kiosk, I had the following conversation with my eldest:
Me: Alright - let's go [out to the car].
She: But it's raining! I need an umbrella!
Me: You're soaking wet from the pool already - what possible difference does it make now?
She: Oh.
Llama Apology
One other thing - I mentioned earlier in the week that I was going to try and fiddle with the blogroll to add some new Llama friends. I'm very sorry I haven't got round to that yet, but promise that I will. So please be patient.
One other thing - I mentioned earlier in the week that I was going to try and fiddle with the blogroll to add some new Llama friends. I'm very sorry I haven't got round to that yet, but promise that I will. So please be patient.
Llama Senior Week - Day 4
Well, today is the day that I hope to have all of the files and other assorted junk cleared out of my office, leaving nothing but my coffee cup and a few odds and ends to go in the take-home box. It's the final push, but it's hard to do when you just don't give a damn anymore.
The only things I should have to deal with tomorrow are the "exit interview", in which my ID, passwords and other firm-related goodies are stripped from me like the insignia of a soldier about to be drummed out of the corp, and the dreaded "Farewell Party". Of the two, I am looking forward much more to the former. I expect to collect plenty of material for a really snarky after-action report. Be sure to tune in.
One bright spot: a bunch of the secretaries appear to be making up some kind of going-away basket for me and sent a deputation to find out what kind of champagne I like. As a matter of fact, I really don't like champagne very much. By smooth diplomacy, I was able to suggest that a bottle of Scotch (Island single malt, if you please) would be much more appreciated. So I've got that to look forward to.
UPDATE: My spy among the secretaries just informed me that she was able to head off some of the more elaborate cake suggestions that were floating about. You see, I don't much like cake, either. Instead, I think it's going to be some kind of ice cream concoction. Good enough, if I have to eat a dessert.
Well, today is the day that I hope to have all of the files and other assorted junk cleared out of my office, leaving nothing but my coffee cup and a few odds and ends to go in the take-home box. It's the final push, but it's hard to do when you just don't give a damn anymore.
The only things I should have to deal with tomorrow are the "exit interview", in which my ID, passwords and other firm-related goodies are stripped from me like the insignia of a soldier about to be drummed out of the corp, and the dreaded "Farewell Party". Of the two, I am looking forward much more to the former. I expect to collect plenty of material for a really snarky after-action report. Be sure to tune in.
One bright spot: a bunch of the secretaries appear to be making up some kind of going-away basket for me and sent a deputation to find out what kind of champagne I like. As a matter of fact, I really don't like champagne very much. By smooth diplomacy, I was able to suggest that a bottle of Scotch (Island single malt, if you please) would be much more appreciated. So I've got that to look forward to.
UPDATE: My spy among the secretaries just informed me that she was able to head off some of the more elaborate cake suggestions that were floating about. You see, I don't much like cake, either. Instead, I think it's going to be some kind of ice cream concoction. Good enough, if I have to eat a dessert.
Pump You Up!
This is a good idea: John of TexasBestGrok stumbled across the USMC's Physical Fitness and Swimming Requirements and has started using them as a marker to measure his own performance.
I think I'm going to try the same thing. It's one thing to come up with your own routine in a vacuum. It's something better to judge yourself against a standardized scale, especially one with incremental toughness built into it like this. Looking at the chart, I think I could probably manage a third class rating now. It would be nice if I could bump that up. (Of course, I turn 40 in a few months, so I'll pick up some points just by default.)
This is a good idea: John of TexasBestGrok stumbled across the USMC's Physical Fitness and Swimming Requirements and has started using them as a marker to measure his own performance.
I think I'm going to try the same thing. It's one thing to come up with your own routine in a vacuum. It's something better to judge yourself against a standardized scale, especially one with incremental toughness built into it like this. Looking at the chart, I think I could probably manage a third class rating now. It would be nice if I could bump that up. (Of course, I turn 40 in a few months, so I'll pick up some points just by default.)
Heh. But Now I'm All Hungry!
When I saw the title "Bratblogging", my first reaction was that someone else was serving up some Gratuitous Domestic Posts (TM). But now I see that this is the kind of brat I don't mind at all.
Yips! to Glenn.
When I saw the title "Bratblogging", my first reaction was that someone else was serving up some Gratuitous Domestic Posts (TM). But now I see that this is the kind of brat I don't mind at all.
Yips! to Glenn.
Kerry. Is. Toast.
Why? Because the Divine Peggy is joining the Bush Campaign.
We're not worthy!
UPDATE: Hemmingway at The AlpacaBurger Forum (just scroll) compares recent Dem and GOP draft picks and concludes that the Donks got robbed. Yup.
Why? Because the Divine Peggy is joining the Bush Campaign.
We're not worthy!
UPDATE: Hemmingway at The AlpacaBurger Forum (just scroll) compares recent Dem and GOP draft picks and concludes that the Donks got robbed. Yup.
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
Llama Senior Week - Day 3 - Update
Time for this Llama to check out for today. My girls have been after me all summer to come with them some weekday afternoon to the local water park. Today is the day, so I am off to meet the mermaids.
Besides, after this morning's ranting and snarking, I think I need to cool off a bit.
Yip at you later!
Time for this Llama to check out for today. My girls have been after me all summer to come with them some weekday afternoon to the local water park. Today is the day, so I am off to meet the mermaids.
Besides, after this morning's ranting and snarking, I think I need to cool off a bit.
Yip at you later!
Llama Senior Week - Day 3
Today I'm clearing out my email. At the moment, I have 20,268 messages in my "deleted items" folder, with probably another 8000 or so to clear out of other boxes. I confidently expect that when I hit the "empty trash" button, the firm's entire system is going to suffer core meltdown.
That's a shame.
Today I'm clearing out my email. At the moment, I have 20,268 messages in my "deleted items" folder, with probably another 8000 or so to clear out of other boxes. I confidently expect that when I hit the "empty trash" button, the firm's entire system is going to suffer core meltdown.
That's a shame.
Llama Reading Recommendation
If you don't read Rich Galen's Mullings column, you really ought to. Rich is a professional pol-handler, operating in the heart of Your Nation's Capital (well, in Alexandria, anyway) and almost always has something smart and funny to say about things. Today, Rich bursts out in song over the Dems' dead-cat bounce.
Seriously, tho, you can get Rich's column zapped into your email box every morning - and it's free! Sign up today. You'll be glad you did.
If you don't read Rich Galen's Mullings column, you really ought to. Rich is a professional pol-handler, operating in the heart of Your Nation's Capital (well, in Alexandria, anyway) and almost always has something smart and funny to say about things. Today, Rich bursts out in song over the Dems' dead-cat bounce.
Seriously, tho, you can get Rich's column zapped into your email box every morning - and it's free! Sign up today. You'll be glad you did.
Light Fuse, Stand Back
Tim Worstall is pursuing the story of Amy Richards, the woman who was featured in the NYT Magazine a few weeks back for deciding to terminate two out of the three triplet fetuses she was carrying because she didn't want to have to "move to Staten Island and buy mayo from Costco". A friend of Tim's actually had an email exchange with this woman, reprinted in Tim's post, that frankly does not do much to improve her standing IMHO.
Our friend INDeCent Bill takes Tim to task over one of his arguments, specifically his estimation of how far $40K will go in New York. Bill is right about this. And he makes some decent general points about family planning and financial stability.
I stayed out of this the first time around and God knows why I'm getting involved now, but it seems to me that another point needs to be emphasized. Budgeting for children is extremely important. But you can never be absolutely sure of your calculations. And more fundamentally, children, even in the fetal stage, aren't a commodity, they're human beings - you can't simply send some back if you find you've got too many. Instead, you adjust to the circumstances as they arise. You wanted one, you got three. You didn't want any, you got one. You deal with it. "Quality of Life" arguments don't wash with me when the alternative is death.
Indeed, it seems to me that all of this goes right back to where the issue of "choice" ought to be in the first place. If you choose to be sexually active, you run the risk of pregnancy. If you choose to try and become pregnant, you run the risk, as here, of getting more than you bargained for. Truly informed choice consists of understanding all the possible consequences of your actions and either accepting the risk and responsibility for them before you engage in them or else, if you don't feel you can handle the consequences, refraining. This is why I have always been particularly aghast at the "choice" argument as applied to abortion-as-birth-control. In that context, such a choice is, in fact, a method of getting out of the consequences of one's actions.
(And before people start flooding the Mail Sack with angry "yeah, but -" emails, let me just state for the record that I am not a zealot. Crackpots who shoot abortion doctors and bomb clinics should have the book thrown at them. I believe there are and always have been perfectly legitimate medical reasons for considering an abortion. I accept the argument in favor of abortion in the case of incest. I am more uncomfortable in the rape context, since, although by definition no choice is involved, the crime is hardly the fault of the fetus. Nonetheless, I am willing to tolerate it. But about 90% of the whole bloody debate is about abortion as birth control, and that I find to be barbarous.)
Okay, that's all I'm going to say on the subject.
UPDATE: Well, almost. Just for the sake of full disclosure, let me also point out that I believe these issues are a matter for state legislatures, not Supreme Court fiat. Given that, if Virginia were to decide to permit instant, full term, no questions asked abortions, so be it. I wouldn't like the law, and might work to persuade the legislature to change it, but I'd respect it as long as it was on the books.
Tim Worstall is pursuing the story of Amy Richards, the woman who was featured in the NYT Magazine a few weeks back for deciding to terminate two out of the three triplet fetuses she was carrying because she didn't want to have to "move to Staten Island and buy mayo from Costco". A friend of Tim's actually had an email exchange with this woman, reprinted in Tim's post, that frankly does not do much to improve her standing IMHO.
Our friend INDeCent Bill takes Tim to task over one of his arguments, specifically his estimation of how far $40K will go in New York. Bill is right about this. And he makes some decent general points about family planning and financial stability.
I stayed out of this the first time around and God knows why I'm getting involved now, but it seems to me that another point needs to be emphasized. Budgeting for children is extremely important. But you can never be absolutely sure of your calculations. And more fundamentally, children, even in the fetal stage, aren't a commodity, they're human beings - you can't simply send some back if you find you've got too many. Instead, you adjust to the circumstances as they arise. You wanted one, you got three. You didn't want any, you got one. You deal with it. "Quality of Life" arguments don't wash with me when the alternative is death.
Indeed, it seems to me that all of this goes right back to where the issue of "choice" ought to be in the first place. If you choose to be sexually active, you run the risk of pregnancy. If you choose to try and become pregnant, you run the risk, as here, of getting more than you bargained for. Truly informed choice consists of understanding all the possible consequences of your actions and either accepting the risk and responsibility for them before you engage in them or else, if you don't feel you can handle the consequences, refraining. This is why I have always been particularly aghast at the "choice" argument as applied to abortion-as-birth-control. In that context, such a choice is, in fact, a method of getting out of the consequences of one's actions.
(And before people start flooding the Mail Sack with angry "yeah, but -" emails, let me just state for the record that I am not a zealot. Crackpots who shoot abortion doctors and bomb clinics should have the book thrown at them. I believe there are and always have been perfectly legitimate medical reasons for considering an abortion. I accept the argument in favor of abortion in the case of incest. I am more uncomfortable in the rape context, since, although by definition no choice is involved, the crime is hardly the fault of the fetus. Nonetheless, I am willing to tolerate it. But about 90% of the whole bloody debate is about abortion as birth control, and that I find to be barbarous.)
Okay, that's all I'm going to say on the subject.
UPDATE: Well, almost. Just for the sake of full disclosure, let me also point out that I believe these issues are a matter for state legislatures, not Supreme Court fiat. Given that, if Virginia were to decide to permit instant, full term, no questions asked abortions, so be it. I wouldn't like the law, and might work to persuade the legislature to change it, but I'd respect it as long as it was on the books.
School Daze
Congrats to Steve-O for making the Commissar's Blogville Class of 1965 Yearbook. It's good to see some recognition for his work in the Young Hayek Pioneers.
Congrats to Steve-O for making the Commissar's Blogville Class of 1965 Yearbook. It's good to see some recognition for his work in the Young Hayek Pioneers.
Bleat-Like* Furry Little Bastard Watch Update
(*Not intentional. It just came out this way. Sometimes many of the forces in my mind converge at the same junction and it gets a bit messy. Think Gettysburg or Five Forks and you'll see what I mean.)
Bad news greeted me when I got home last evening: Sauron's Wraith Rabbits are back in the garden and have been reinforced. I found two of the fiends within the perimeter and saw another scampering off into the underbrush as I dashed down to the gate. Nasty, sneaky, tricksy little thiefs! For some reason, they seem to have lost interest in the purple magnus (which are really starting to establish themselves, finally) and instead have been focusing on the black eye susans. They don't seem to care for the joe-pye or the various butterfly weeds and bushes and have completely ignored the columbine and salvia. Go figure.
Well I'm nothing if not the Man of Action. To say it with rocks was for me the work of an instant. Nearly got one of them, too. I must have provided an entertaining sight, though, dancing frantically around the garden, throwing rocks and yelling, "Goddam rabbits!" The neighbors might have mistaken me for George the Third in one of his less lucid moments. (That is, assuming they knew who he was.)
Speaking of George III, according to the biography by Christopher Hibbert that I'm currently reading, the story that the poor man once mistook a tree for the King of Prussia and entered into conversation with it, going so far as to shake its hand, was false, a slander put about by some of the Prince of Wales' disreputable set to try and bring about the Regency more quickly. Awful people. Awful, awful people. Thank God for Billy Pitt.
But I digress. Since the Daisy air rifle option continues to face insurmountable opposition from She Who Must Be Obeyed, I've no choice now but to run chicken wire around the bottom of the fence. (I think I mentioned earlier that there is wire in place now, but the holes are sufficiently large for the filthy little vermin to squeeze through.) Fortunately, I finally have some time on my hands, so I can put this plan into operation instanter.
I've noticed before that Home Despot does not call chicken wire "chicken wire". Instead, it refers to the stuff as "poultry fencing". I've puzzled about this for a while, but still do not have a completely satisfactory explanation. However, I strongly suspect the hand of "marketing experts". My working theory is that the plain, old-fashioned term "chicken wire" has been found off-putting to the nouveau-toffs that inhabit the McMansions around here, being too closely associated in their minds with Uncle Jesse Duke, Snuffy Smith and Bob's Country Bunker. "Poultry fencing" sounds fancier, thereby appealing to their vanity while at the same time assuaging their insecurities about being tagged for a Rube by other nouveau-toffs. (As you might have gathered, as a class I don't like these people, since their behavior tends towards flagrantly conspicuous consumerism and pretentiousness, both of which I loathe. No really nice person lives in a McMansion if they don't have to and, given that the starting price for these abominations is well into seven figures around here, nobody has to.) The main problem with this theory, of course, is that these people typically do not garden much themselves, relying on the Help to do it for them. So perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the appeal is aimed at people who aspire to nouveau-toffiness, since they dream of McMansionite status but still get their hands dirty. But I'm sticking with it because it allows me to indulge in some heartfelt snarkiness about a prominent architectural eyesore and an insufferable group of people in my neck of the woods.
Actually, there is some historical precedent for my theory, found in a nifty etymological split that I read about a long time ago. Most of the English words for barnyard animals - chicken, cow, pig, sheep and so on - are Saxon in origin. On the other hand, the words we use for the product that comes to table - beef, poultry, pork, veal, mutton and the like - derive from Norman French. This is a direct result of the events of 1066 and offers a very good clue as to which group wound up tending the animals and which group got to eat them. So if nothing else, the nouveau-toffs (and the "marketing experts") could argue that they are simply following the precedent of William the Conqueror. (That is, assuming they knew who he was.)
UPDATE: I really, really love the Blogsphere. Kathy the Cake Eater suggests that if I'm that, er, pissed at the rabbits, I should use it to my advantage. I might not trust her nature skills any more than I do her ability to pick the best Jane Austen heroine, but this time she's got backup.
(*Not intentional. It just came out this way. Sometimes many of the forces in my mind converge at the same junction and it gets a bit messy. Think Gettysburg or Five Forks and you'll see what I mean.)
Bad news greeted me when I got home last evening: Sauron's Wraith Rabbits are back in the garden and have been reinforced. I found two of the fiends within the perimeter and saw another scampering off into the underbrush as I dashed down to the gate. Nasty, sneaky, tricksy little thiefs! For some reason, they seem to have lost interest in the purple magnus (which are really starting to establish themselves, finally) and instead have been focusing on the black eye susans. They don't seem to care for the joe-pye or the various butterfly weeds and bushes and have completely ignored the columbine and salvia. Go figure.
Well I'm nothing if not the Man of Action. To say it with rocks was for me the work of an instant. Nearly got one of them, too. I must have provided an entertaining sight, though, dancing frantically around the garden, throwing rocks and yelling, "Goddam rabbits!" The neighbors might have mistaken me for George the Third in one of his less lucid moments. (That is, assuming they knew who he was.)
Speaking of George III, according to the biography by Christopher Hibbert that I'm currently reading, the story that the poor man once mistook a tree for the King of Prussia and entered into conversation with it, going so far as to shake its hand, was false, a slander put about by some of the Prince of Wales' disreputable set to try and bring about the Regency more quickly. Awful people. Awful, awful people. Thank God for Billy Pitt.
But I digress. Since the Daisy air rifle option continues to face insurmountable opposition from She Who Must Be Obeyed, I've no choice now but to run chicken wire around the bottom of the fence. (I think I mentioned earlier that there is wire in place now, but the holes are sufficiently large for the filthy little vermin to squeeze through.) Fortunately, I finally have some time on my hands, so I can put this plan into operation instanter.
I've noticed before that Home Despot does not call chicken wire "chicken wire". Instead, it refers to the stuff as "poultry fencing". I've puzzled about this for a while, but still do not have a completely satisfactory explanation. However, I strongly suspect the hand of "marketing experts". My working theory is that the plain, old-fashioned term "chicken wire" has been found off-putting to the nouveau-toffs that inhabit the McMansions around here, being too closely associated in their minds with Uncle Jesse Duke, Snuffy Smith and Bob's Country Bunker. "Poultry fencing" sounds fancier, thereby appealing to their vanity while at the same time assuaging their insecurities about being tagged for a Rube by other nouveau-toffs. (As you might have gathered, as a class I don't like these people, since their behavior tends towards flagrantly conspicuous consumerism and pretentiousness, both of which I loathe. No really nice person lives in a McMansion if they don't have to and, given that the starting price for these abominations is well into seven figures around here, nobody has to.) The main problem with this theory, of course, is that these people typically do not garden much themselves, relying on the Help to do it for them. So perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the appeal is aimed at people who aspire to nouveau-toffiness, since they dream of McMansionite status but still get their hands dirty. But I'm sticking with it because it allows me to indulge in some heartfelt snarkiness about a prominent architectural eyesore and an insufferable group of people in my neck of the woods.
Actually, there is some historical precedent for my theory, found in a nifty etymological split that I read about a long time ago. Most of the English words for barnyard animals - chicken, cow, pig, sheep and so on - are Saxon in origin. On the other hand, the words we use for the product that comes to table - beef, poultry, pork, veal, mutton and the like - derive from Norman French. This is a direct result of the events of 1066 and offers a very good clue as to which group wound up tending the animals and which group got to eat them. So if nothing else, the nouveau-toffs (and the "marketing experts") could argue that they are simply following the precedent of William the Conqueror. (That is, assuming they knew who he was.)
UPDATE: I really, really love the Blogsphere. Kathy the Cake Eater suggests that if I'm that, er, pissed at the rabbits, I should use it to my advantage. I might not trust her nature skills any more than I do her ability to pick the best Jane Austen heroine, but this time she's got backup.
