Posted by lex, on Fri – April 1, 2005 at 05:26 PM
Well, now. That’s your call, isn’t it?
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?
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.
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.”
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!
07-28-20 ** Saw no picture in the Wayback Machine – Ed.