Category: Uncategorized

motion in the ocean (oo wah)

beachparty

  1. AIIGH! The Paxil is self-replicating and attacking the other Paxil!
  2. YOW! The water down there is so hot, it’s entered a weird different state of matter!
  3. YOICKS! The Luba people of central Africa have a totally awesome memory board technology!
  4. Shut up and make your own Custom Loaf, damnit!

Edit: Maciej got all up in my grill about the phrase “weird different state of matter”. Let the record show that I am aware that super extra hot steam is not strictly speaking a state of matter, even if it is supercritical. However, I do maintain that supercritical water is still totally weird. Thank you. Does anyone have some cashews and/or Paypal?

Local characters: The landscaper

The gardener

Here is the gardener for my neighbors. She is in her late fifties or early sixties. She does their whole yard, lawn and plants, with one helper, once a week. Her pickup truck is stickered with patriotism. She clearly has arthritis or knee injuries and walks with a kind of swiveling cowboy swagger that says: I am in pain and I don’t give a damn. She chain smokes. While she is working she does not stop except to take stock of progress or give instruction to her assistant. She’s so focused that it takes two or three attempts to contact her before she’ll break away from work.

She is a force of nature.

The gardener

The unspeakable lured by the unreadable

I try not to to be too hard on hack writers most of the time. It’s hard to make a living in journalism, and a lot of jobs are at boring and stultifying industry house organs or shilltalk ad rags. These are people who wanted to be ink-stained front page reporters or film critics and they get to write about aluminum foil or fabulous getaway weekends. Sometimes, though, they cross a line. This piece, from a credit card company’s luxury travel magazine, is… well, I’ll pay you a quarter if you read the whole thing straight through. It’s for our local South County seaside resort, and the writers decided that instead of the usual luxury porn template that bored them so, they’d use an alternative literary form for thier puff piece: A film script! Because that’s what they really wanted to do anyway.

THE SCRIPT

For the Cheese Crew: Head… Injury… REPORT!

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/gloucestershire/5027868.stm

A teenager who knocked himself out while chasing a Double Gloucester cheese down a hill was among 25 people hurt in a Cheese Rolling competition.

Chris Anderson, 18, won one of the five races which make up the annual contest, in which dozens of people race down a 1:2 gradient hill after a large cheese.

St John Ambulance workers at the race, on Coopers Hill in Brockworth, said two people were taken to hospital.

One spectator was given treatment after being hit by a runaway cheese…

Memorial Day: Lions led by Donkeys

From Lions Led By Donkeys

The problem is, these yahoos have managed an ugly trick. They have turned criticism of the policies of Bastards in Suits into criticism of The People in Uniform Getting Shot At. This, of course, is completely wrong, as one can easily tell the difference between the Bastards in Suits and The People in Uniform Getting Shot At. One group is in Suits, and Not Getting Shot At, while another is in Uniform, and Getting Shot At. Please, try to grasp this. Not the same.

[…]

The first war I read about extensively was World War I, where I encountered the magnificently British term “Lions led by donkeys.” If there’s a more apt description of our current thrill-ride, I can’t think of it. Here’s the thing: you folk on the other side of this particular argumentative aisle may like the Donkeys. You may trust the Donkeys. But never, ever forget the goddam difference.

Some people even seem confused on how we are criticizing the Bastards in Suits. The Bastards have a job to do. They are not doing it. Period. Tommy Franks recently trotted out the classic bit of misdirection, attacking critics of Donald Rumsfeld.

“I don’t care about your politics. I don’t. Don Rumsfeld is an American patriot.”

Yes, well, that’s lovely. But we’re not criticizing his patriotism. We’re criticizing his job performance. One of the great mysteries of the last six years was how and when the Bush Administration turned public policy into Special Olympics. “Oh, I know Donny knocked over all the hurdles, but HE LOVES THE RACE, so you SHUT YOUR FILTHY, CYNICAL MOUTH.” Jesus H. Christ.

The problem is, there is no single word in English for a man risking absolutely nothing, who demands someone else risk absolutely everything. I’m sure there’s a word in German — they are a whizzer with those kicky compound nouns — but none in English for that precise combination.

So, for now, we must let “chickenhawk” be its placeholder.

Thanks to the Aardvark.

Wayne LaPierre, Embarrassing Wingnut

http://www.economist.com/world/na/PrinterFriendly.cfm?story_id=6980071

In horrific war zones like Sierra Leone and Angola, the UN runs programs for “disarmament, demobilisation, rehabilitation and reintegration” of former soldiers. Often these are people who grew up fighting and have no clue how to live any other way. They give up their guns and in return get education and a leg up into normal society. (A friend of mine worked in one of these programs.)

Guess who thinks that’s a bad idea? Wayne LaPierre, the Mouth of the U.S. National Rifle Association. Why would Wayne be down on this idea? Because he thinks the next step is… wait for it… the U.N. coming here to the U.S. and forcibly disarming and reeducating all of us. At least he didn’t call it “ZOG”.

This story would be hilarious, but Wayne has a lot of influence and a lot of cash. Despite getting crazier and crazier over the years and losing a lot of high profile supporters, the NRA still commands respect in politics.

Hey, Wayne? Former child soldiers in Liberia don’t want their guns. They want their lives back. And if “the government” comes for us, it’ll be our own and personal firearm ownership will barely slow them down. Just ask the residents of Fallujah how much the household AK-47 helped when the Marines showed up.

See you in Camp Halliburton!