The Official Turkey Dinner has not yet begun - I'm not dressed for it yet, we aren't done baking for it yet - oy, since we're baking so many goodies just for Thanksgiving, I have to wonder what sort of dessert menu we'll come up with for Christmas - so I will point out some tidbits of interest currently floating downstream on the Net's cyber surface whilst I wait.
This week's Link of Note is James Lileks. I have to admit that I experience a stab of Writer Envy every time I read his Bleats. He's good. Very very good.
Salman Rushdie has an op-ed in the NYT that's made me ponder a bit about tolerance, or the lack thereof. Today is not a good day to go into it, I think, so I'll tackle this subject tomorrow.
In the meantime, enjoy yer bird, the trimmings, and the presence of family. God bless us, everyone!
As it is, my insomnia is finally waning, and the fight between getting some sleep and wanting a midnight snack is beginning.
Well, thank You anyway, God, for some nice digs, an equally nice roommate (and sister), a bed to sleep on and a pillow on which I can lay my head, and an ample food supply in the kitchen. (I wonder if Murm would notice that I snitched a sugar cookie...) I can't say I've ever gone hungry or thirsty in a world where a hunger and thirst for something prevails.
And, oh yes, thank You for DSL and the freedom of expression. And thanks for giving us brains and an intelligence too. (Now if only some people actually remembered You gave 'em one for a reason.)
Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.
Goodnight.
Newsflash: The Prez has named Henry Kissinger to head an investigative commission charged with looking into the 9/11 attacks. I won't read much into this until I find out more 'bout Mr. Kissinger, but I wonder what this commission could uncover that we don't know already.
I've come to realize that I like to think in questions. I ask questions of myself and of others (yeah, you know who you are, especially those of you who've had to endure my "psychiatric evaluations"). I've discovered a lot about myself and about life in general through questions. I can't tell if it's just because I'm curious about everything, and it's certainly not because I want to be more knowledgable about any one thing, but the "difficult" questions always help me understand things better.
Perhaps this is just as well.
The ideal outfit on a mall outing: jeans, tee, comfortable shoes.
What I see when I get to the mall: women dressed in pantsuits, heels, the full panoply of makeup, dressed to kill, dressed to flatter.
Ehh - is this really the mall or did I just interrupt a fashion show? Sorry, Gisele, didn't mean to interrupt the Victoria's Secret parade!
Yes, obviously some of the members of my own sex puzzle me. That or I'm a lot more conservative in my dress code than I realized.
Can I glide on fire?
Yes, in my heart.
And in case you've been wondering, I'm a little short on things to say, besides a few random tangents like the one above. (Jer: Who are you and what did you do with Sarah? [Sarah wishes she knew the answer to that herself.])
I need to recover my own muse - of course, I don't even know if I really lost him or her in the first place.
I don't think I've mentioned this before, but technology absolutely rocks. My dad's in Las Vegas to attend the Comdex convention, and he stood in front of his hotel's panning webcam and waved at us about twenty minutes ago. WOOT!
Taking the bus and/or train is always an interesting experience. For one thing, it's the best place to eavesdrop!
Tonight, for instance, I took the express bus just as everyone was getting off work. The 20X passes the Sandia and Lawrence Livermore Nat'l Labs, and by the time we were out of Livermore and on the freeway, a considerable amount of people had gotten on. And suddenly I hear this directly behind me:
"Yeah, hi, this is ---- ----- from Lawrence Livermore. I'm on the 20X bus - you can probly hear the motor in the background - and I was wondering if I could express my appreciation for ---- -------; he's provided some great service for the 20X, he's always on time, but unfortunately he transferred to another bus line about two weeks ago. Is there any way we could get him back or put in a good word to his boss for his performance?"
Normally I'd mind my own business - I know, since when does a nosy student reporter mind her own business? - but the guy was talking loud enough for everyone sitting in the front of the bus to hear. 'Sides which, I don't think I've ever heard any bus passenger say anything nice about the driver during the four-plus years I've used public transportation.
I would say taking the train was just as interesting tonight, but all I heard on the train on my way back to my apartment were kids crying. Nothing new about that...
Here's a nice in-depth piece from the Jerusalem Post's Bret Stephens on the upcoming UN inspections - and everything that could happen afterwards.
Okay, okay, now I'm really gone for the weekend! Until Monday.
Does anybody remember the Power Rangers? I was big fan of the series back when it debuted about, oh, eight years ago, and stayed a fan for the first few seasons. (Nowadays I think Saban seriously needs to cancel whatever mutation of the series that's currently airing on Fox! Kids and let time bury the whole notion that the Power Rangers even existed, but *ahem* that's just me.)
Anyway, I saw this VeriSign ad the other day; it was a strip of pictures glued together, promoting I-have-no-idea what about their services, but one of the pictures stuck to me. This guy was dressed in the Black Ranger's costume - no helmet, and he was also wearing a red cape. He stood on a desolate desert road, thumb in the air, apparently trying to pick up a ride from any passing drivers willing to bestow some sympathy on him.
My imagination must've been in overdrive, because I could just see the headlines now for this one on tomorrow's tabloid front cover: "Super Hero Is Really A Bum!" Or, even better: "Super Hero Accidentally Reveals True Identity While Trying to Bum Ride off Trucker."
That's my little hokey story to start off your weekend. Hope it's a quiet one.
P.S. (Isn't it koo-el how having a blog can help you post the most nonsensical drivel just because you feel like it?)
Before I "lose" this, here's an update on the youngest victim of the recent D.C. sniper spree. A rather heartwarming tale, I assure you. (link via Unqualified Offerings)
A public figure one should keep a critical eye on: John Poindexter. (via A Small Victory)
A potential bureaucracy one should also be wary of: the Department of Homeland Security. (via InstaPundit)
I could go into a lot more detail with both, but...check it out yourself and draw your own conclusions. (Hey, at least I'm raising public awareness 'bout this stuff, yo.)
It's 7:45 in the eve, give or take a few minutes, and it feels like it's 11 pm instead. This is probly the only thing I hate about this time of year, the early setting and late rising of daylight. I may be a night owl, but I ain't too sure about calling the night my friend yet.
On to the real reason for this post: lately I've been posting links to the pundits who've sprung up in the blogosphere since 9/11. They come from both sides of the political spectrum, and some of their views I agree with, but not all (that'd make me a confusing mess, wouldn't it?). Here are some of my faves that are or aren't on the blogroll, in no particular order - enjoy:
Instapundit
A Small Victory
Nick Denton
Unqualified Offerings
little green footballs
Jeff Jarvis
tacitus
Indepundit
No War Blog
Samizdata
Charles Murtagh
For Jer - and all others who need some encouragement.
A man treading the path of Life finally collapsed in exhaustion by the wayside, watching the earth's populace pass him in their meandering paces. He noticed that some bore heavy burdens upon their shoulders and wondered why any person would want to lug such troublesome rocks along for the journey. Others walked past with black thunderclouds hovering over their heads. Still others walked by, cheerfully, blindly smiling at nothing ahead of them, as if this trip were another excursion to a paradise that was but a mirage.
But then the man noticed that some people who continued to fall every few feet would dodgedly trudge on, despite the numerous invisible barriers that caused them to stumble so frequently. While he mused over how they could resume a path that tormented them so, someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to see a cleanshaven man in beautiful robes beside him, watching the endless parade.
"Who are you?" the tired wanderer asked, startled by the other man's sudden appearance.
The newcomer merely gestured to the sea of humanity traipsing past them - to those who fell but regained their footing. "You wondered how such could continue, despite the obstacles. I will show you."
He stepped closer and passed his hand slowly over the traveler's eyes. The voyager's mouth fell open. Behind every person who stumbled was a man dressed in similar garb as his newly arrived companion. Every time an emigrant fell, the man behind would gently help the person to his feet and persuade him to continue on.
"I believe, friend, that you only have a little bit more of the road to walk," the stranger said kindly, and held out a hand.
The wanderer stared at him for a moment, then slowly reached out to grab the proffered hand. He was surprised at the strength behind the other man's grip; the man pulled him up and wrapped a comradely arm about his shoulders, guiding him back towards the road. "Just a little further," the helper murmured with an encouraging smile. "A little while longer. You're almost there."
"Who are you?" the traveler whispered, both awed and perhaps even a bit frightened.
"My name is Hope," the helper simply replied. "And I am ever with you."
- SMN
Did you vote today?
The polls (for me) were located at my former elementary school. I suppose that'd be something insignificant, if not for the fact that the secretary who used to work in the front office and now volunteers there recognized me. Even better, she still remembered everyone in my family.
Hmmmmmm... (via A Small Victory)
What does it truly mean to "keep the Sabbath"?
Well, okay, let me rephrase this. God rested on the seventh day, which would technically be Saturday (not that I don't think they had all the names of the days of the week figured out by then, but that's sooo besides the point...). Most of Christendom (unless one goes to a Seventh Day Adventist church) claims Sunday as the rest day of the week.
I come from a home where anything secular was not allowed to be viewed/played/done, with the exception of the football/baseball/basketball games. (Yes, I know, that seems rather hypocritical, doesn't it?) I know that before my time - say, mid twentieth century - stores would roll up their sidewalks on Sundays and the whole town would pretty much shut down to honor this "day of rest." Nowadays, though, Sunday is just a regular day for a majority of individuals and companies. I still get frowned at sometimes by my parents for doing certain things (like going to see a movie or listening to "hard" music) on Sundays, so I must ask: how do we actually rest on the day of rest?
P.S. Sink Girl, Poet Woman... now I'm busting out with the parentheses all the time. I s'pose I shouldn't set myself up for this, but maybe I can add "Parentheses Chick" to that cadre of "cute" nicknames. (Note the the quotes around the word cute - awww, geez, I'm doin' it again...!)
P.P.S. I must have this thing for royalty: Sarah means "princess" and Rhesa means "prince." (Thank you, Hannah, for pointing that out!)
rhesa is a half sister to the toney children
rhesa is an all
rhesa is kept very busy teaching her two eldest children and caring for the youngest
rhesa is confident
rhesa is doing her nursing clinicals at southern nazarene university
rhesa is studying nursing at snu and titus studies church music there
rhesa is not a proper name
rhesa is an aramaic word meaning 'prince' and was zerubabbel's title
rhesa is the persian word for "prince
rhesa is(!)
rhesa is born
rhesa is alweer een tijdje bij christa en ze doet het hartstikke goed
rhesa is het nieuwe hondje van christa
rhesa is no person
rhesa is the son of zerubbabel
The way I look
at it, I'm passing through a phase:
gradually I'm changing to a word.
Whatever you choose to claim
of me is always yours;
nothing is truly mine
except my name. I only
borrowed this dust.
November, November! Sweet November. Now if only your lovely reds and golds weren't discolored by escalating political campaigns and changes to prep for next Tuesday...
Here is an interesting (if not entertaining) reply to the Not In Our Name campaign. (via InstaPundit)