Whatever happened to Sandy Berger? You know,
"Trousergate "?
That one had us all spun up for a bit, on every
side of the political sphere, with right-siders convinced that somehow Hillary
was behind it all, and left-siders convincing themselves that stuffing secret
archive papers in your socks is simply how it's done.
And then, it was gone - poof!
Without a trace.
Ah,
well.
-------------------------
The
Allahpundit was going through another one of
his strange, prolonged absences, and I was beginning to wonder if maybe someone
had either carried out a fatwa against him for his, shall we say, irreverence?
or whether he had committed ritual suicide after seeing the third
debate.
I shouldn't have wondered.
Like Bryan , he was apparently sacrificing everything
else in his life upon the altar of the BoSox , God bless 'em. Maybe the Babe curse
really is over, but there's at least four games before we know that for sure.
Jonah Goldberg, of the National
Review Online is no stranger to hate mail, but he was really tempting fate when
he wrote these lines
:
I do hope the Red Sox
lose in the World Series. There aren't many curses left in modern society most
people still believe in. We've sanitized the culture of such mysticisms. Or
we've elevated them to quasi-religions deserving full respect under the rules of
political correctness ("Oh? You're a Pagan? Isn't that wonderful! My
hairdresser's a Druid!"). The BoSox curse is old but it's not weird. It's a
comfortable bit of lore which adds drama to life. If it disappears the magic and
mystery of life will be a teeny bit diminished. Except of course for Red Sox
fans, who will be whistling dixie out of every orifice for a year. Depriving
them of such joy seems worth the
price.
I spent a fair amount of time
in Beantown back as a Lieutenant/Lieutenant Commander, working on a program over
at Raytheon. Downtown is a lot of fun, but I did notice two things: 1) There
must be a law requiring people to be drunk in and around Fanueil Hall on weekend
nights, because otherwise there's no explaining it, and 2) A fight can be had
for the drop of a hat, even if you're not particularly in the market.
So just stay clear of downtown,
would be my advice to Jonah.
Oh, that
Raytheon plant? It was in Bedford, Middlesex County. For some reason that
combination of words just amuses me - I get images of repressed Puritans talking
about being from Bedford in Middlesex and then going back to their farmsteads to
take a cold shower.
Etymology quiz:
Below Middlesex is Sussex ("south sex"). But what's above? I'd have to think it
would have to be Norsex, which would end up sounding like "No-sex," which
wouldn't appeal to most folks from a marketing standpoint.
Maybe that's why they skipped the
whole thing and went with Norfolk
instead.
---------------------
Ok,
we're back now. Back safely.
Turns
out the
Guardian
is suspending their letter writing campaign to the undecided
citoyens
of Clark County, Ohio. The campaign had been intended by the paper's editors to
have their left-leaning readers reach out and perhaps help shape opinions in
what could be a pivotal battleground state.
You can almost taste the
schadenfreude dripping from this article by the competing
Telegraph,
as they tell the
tale:
(The campaign)
... prompted a surge of indignant local voters calling the county's Republican
party offering to volunteer for Mr
Bush.
Good on ya', Clark
County.
----------------------
That
last bit may get me in trouble in comments, with someone saying that I'm
one-sided. I'm OK with that. It doesn't say "fair and balanced" anywhere in my
meta-tags.
Which I don't have any
meta-tags, so
there.
-----------------------
Oh,
the Navy is trying out a new uniform , just like all the other
services.
And I
so
wish we wouldn't.
It's camouflage,
but in ship colors. Like you'd want to be hidden, on a ship.
Sigh.
-----------------------
It
rained a goodly part of this week. I actually enjoyed it, while it lasted. I was
sitting in my office, with my back to my window, listening to the wind and rain
lash the screen and wall behind me. And there is this immensely comforted
feeling of being inside, warm and dry, while the elements rage outside.
Something almost primal.
It evoked
what felt almost like a memory: I was being seated in a cottage on the moor
while the wind howled and rain fell thunderingly down on the thatch roof above.
In this image, I am sitting in a rocking chair in front of the peat moss fire
with a glass of whiskey in one hand, and a bird dog's drowsy head in the other,
as it places its neck on the flannel blanket over my lap. And I'm very
happy.
It was such a strange feeling,
like someone else had just invaded my head and passed a memory down to me - it
was all so clear, it was as if it was my very own. And yet it can't have been,
because I'm certain I've never sat in a cottage on the moor, etc,
etc.
So I turned around and raised
the blinds, in order to more fully experience that rare pleasure of being
inside, in San Diego.
You hardly ever
feel that, living
here.
-------------------------
Yah,
well. That's it.
Have a great
weekend!
Posted @
05:09 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
