Too cute! Although I'm not entirely sure
dragging the Hill-bot into this is entirely appropriate. I mean, what's she got
to do with
it?
Still.
Judge
not, lest ye be judged, I always
say.
Click
on the pic for a larger version, thanks to the minds at Attack
Machine.
Oh, in case there was any
doubt at all, there's no plausible, non-contemptuous reason to stuff secret archive docs in your trou, and take them
out to hand-shred with a pair of shears. I wonder if all the folks who lined up
to laughingly say, "Oh, that's just Sandy being a mess," or who "questioned the
timing" of the news in stentorian tones are now busily changing the subject.
John Cole has it all here , in case memory fails. Back when all this
broke, Berger said that the whole thing was just inadvertent. One of those crazy
things!
In aviation, the technical word
for that explanation is: Bullshit.
(use highlight text, if you
really
want to know the term)
I shudder to
think of how long I'd be pounding large rocks into small ones at any of your
finer federal institutions of long term care, had I been caught out like
this.
$10,000 bucks and a
temporary
revocation of his clearance? Damn.
------------
Here's
an interesting twist on the psychology of Bush
bashing, if you missed it first time through. Per Noemie Emery (and I'll
willingly admit at this point, that yes - I goole-imaged her, just to see what
someone named "Noemie" might look like. I'm a guy) it's not the serious folks on
the left side of the political spectrum that get their skirts blown up over
their heads by W, but rather the fashion conscious
glitterati.
The new Vanity
Fair is a story the old one might have wanted to cover, as it points up an
interesting trend: The really fierce strains of anti-Bush feeling come less from
established political sources than from what might be called the "glitz-based
community"--people connected to Hollywood, fashion, or celebrity media, who
produce diversions and lifestyle advice. At the shallower end of the pool of
arts and intellect, they tend to produce the facile and transient; they make TV
shows, or write them; make clothes, or write about them; try to become, or
failing that tend to the needs of,
celebrities.
Dunno if I really buy it,
but it made fun reading.
Shallower end
of the pool.
Heh.
-------------
Had
one of those heart-check commutes home this afternoon: The 5/805 pile-up hit us
just over the crest going into LaJolla, which was a little earlier than it can
ordinarily be anticipated and is in any case a deuced awkward spot. Hundreds of
cars going 80 mph crest the ridge and see a parking lot full of red tail lights,
just a few hundred yards ahead. At which point there is much max performance
operational testing of anti-lock breaks, and no small amount of weaving and
darting from side to side as folks try to find a way, anyway at all, out of rear
ending someone. The unsettled mechanics are a little over-stimulating for those
of us who commute on two wheels, not least because when the scissoring starts in
front of you, you're perfectly aware that while those who are darting from side
to side may well be looking for traffic when they abruptly change lanes, they
are most assuredly
not
looking for you. At this point you assume that you're invisible and try to find
a little unoccupied space.
After that
had all settled down the inside of my helmet's visor was strangely fogged, so it
seemed a good idea to get off the highway for a bit. Headed up to the Apple
store at the UTC mall, thinking I might find a present for the Biscuit. Found a,
whaddayoucallit, portable audio dock for her iPod. Speakers on the beach, if you
can feel me. The gent at the store noted my rig and got me off the subject of
the relative merits of the JBL system vs the Bose vs the Altec Lansing (with IR
remote!) and into the world of motorcycles. There I could peaceably while away
many an afternoon hour, but no - there was more. A former Sailor, he wanted to
talk about his Navy experience, back in the day.
A good kid, if a bit excitable, but I
felt a little bad for him and almost wanted to cut the conversation short. You
see, I've shaken the hand of many a troop on his way out the door over the
years, and always asked him what his plan was. Most have great ideas of going on
to college and earning a degree, having learned at first hand the way the Navy
at least, values the sheepskin. Some don't see the world in quite that way, and
look forward to working on the farm, family business or factory. And it's all
good, as far as I'm concerned, although you always regret losing the good ones.
The key to success, in my view anyway, for those who want to go back to school
is to just do
it. I get the occasional email or letter from
kids I used to work with, and they all seem to be doing well. Maybe that's only
because the ones who are doing well would write, but still - it's nice to hear
from them.
But the guys who make me a
little sad are those who either had a plan and didn't follow through, or didn't
have a plan at all. And the kid at the Apple store had left the service 8 years
ago, and was now working a minimum wage clerical job on a sales floor while
working on some sort of degree (here he got vague) at a local community college.
And seeing that at a minimum, he could be no less than 31 years old by now, at
the end of a five year enlistment and 8 years on the economy, and it's hard for
me to believe he left the Navy, with it's brilliantly illuminated path to
success in hopes of finding himself exactly
here.
But we had a nice chat, with him
doing almost all of the talking. As I left he asked me my name, and I gave it to
him and we shook hands with him seeming like he had more to say, but like maybe
he didn't know how.
The rest of the
ride home was
unremarkable.
----------------
After
I'd long ago given up hope (and planned to take the damned thing down, as an
embarrassment) I was absurdly pleased to discover that someone had dropped by my
Amazon Tip Jar, and stuck the somewhat whimsical amount of $12.73 in there.
I appreciate it, whoever you were.
I'll call that a repayment on the twelve bucks I gave to the Haloscan guy for
extended comments. Or to offset part of the $19 I gave to the blogrolling guy to
get my blog roll alphabetized, split nicely into groups of five, and with cool
little asterisks (***) when someone has a new post up. Or shoot, since money is
inherently fungible anyway, I can call it a straight trade on the book that
Greyhawk recommended , which I bought for the
Kat through Amazon.
Still, I have to
wonder at why someone would donate twelve dollars and
seventy-three
cents as their token of appreciation for my
deathless prose.
And yes, I'm fully
aware that the link to the tip jar is now down, for no reason I can enunciate.
And which, considering how very determined I've been in the preceding weeks not
to explicitly mention it, I find deliciously
ironic.
------------------
Oh!
Went
and saw the Ring 2 with the Hobbit and the Kat last night,
at the Kat's insistence. And for all that it was a school night, she'd studied
up, and who was I to say no?
The
Biscuit couldn't run the risk of being seen with us, so she stayed at home.
The movie was actually pretty good I
thought, considering that once you've seen the whole
dead-girl-climbs-out-of-the-well-and-through-your-TV-set thing once, you've
pretty much seen it a thousand times. The Kat couldn't hang 'til the end though,
nightmares being an emergent concern, so we left
early.
That's the way it goes, and no
harm done. Catch it on DVD.
Earlier
we'd been at the grade school open house, and oohed appropriately over all the
associated artwork and projects. The Kat had written a truly lovely note to moms
and pops, and we were genuinely touched to read it. It was the kind of note
where you press your heads together and put your arms around each other, and say
to yourselves, "Oh, isn't that sweet?" and by God, you mean
it.
She'd also dressed rather up, in a
skirt and hand bag, which I found passing strange, considering that her
Sunday-going-to-meeting best now consists of blue jeans and flip-flops, I kid
you not and admit to fighting only those battles I can win, being at heart more
of a tactician than a strategist.
And
once there we'd seen the Kat, who's nearly 11 now, see one of her friends and
put the arms up forty-five degrees from the vertical, one up, one down, and
exchange "The Hug" with her classmate. This is some sort
of Carmel Valley rite of passage, and it reminds me of a time, not so very long
ago, when the Biscuit was a but child, but then suddenly she wasn't anymore. And
it made me groan and go a little bit cold inside, because I'm not sure I've got
enough left for two teenage
daughters.
So pray for me, do
ya.
--------------
By
the way, for those keeping score at home? It's looking more and more like the
spice mines on Arrakis.
Which is why
they call them "orders" and not
"do-you-wannas."
Ah,
well.
--------------
And
we're off to the plaza in Del Mar tonight with the across-the-street neighbors.
Adult beverages will be on offer at a price, and the sun will go down
beatifically over the waters. For a short time we'll all feel beautiful and
poetic, and perhaps just that little bit ironic. Hopefully we'll also count our
blessings - we do have so many, and it may not ever be
thus.
Have a great
weekend!
Posted @
05:26 PM
|
Posted in
""
|
Sendit
|
Credo
"Sign on, young man, and sail with me. The stature of our homeland is no more than the measure of ourselves. Our job is to keep her free. Our will is to keep the torch of freedom burning for all. To this solemn purpose we call on the young, the brave, the strong, and the free. Heed my call, Come to the sea. Come Sail with me." - John Paul Jones
"Pardon him, Theodotus; he is a barbarian, and thinks that the customs of his tribe and island are the laws of nature" --George Bernard Shaw, "Ceasar and Cleopatra"
"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music."--Friederich Nietzsche
