…To fill the empty pages of this space that I’ve sadly neglected for the past year.

School, work, books, journal and boyfriend - they occupy my time now, and will for the foreseeable future. I suppose I should do something with this website since I leave it sitting around instead of using it for a writing project, but I’m reluctant to give it up and move on. I’ll move on eventually.

Sort of.

A snake encounter changes everything.

Mullings, mullings, mullings.

And military blogs.

I hate term papers. Back to the mill…

UPDATE: Click for Cans. (via Greyhawk)

UPDATE II: I wonder how our guys on the ground feel about Kucinich’s latest campaign ad. ‘Course, someone whose run for office is endorsed by Grandfather Twilight shouldn’t be taken too seriously, I suppose. (Sorry - ain’t linking it. via Jay)

…to help you start your weekend.

WESTMORELAND: O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!

KING HENRY V: What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark’d to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian:’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day

King Henry V
Act IV, Scene iii

Guess which book I’m reading - the title is somewhere in this passage. Hint: the author is Stephen Ambrose.

It is SO not a good idea to browse Amazon nowadays.

Who am I?

When Jesus asked his disciples this question, Peter gave the correct answer: “You are the Christ, the son of the Living God.”

But how should a Christian respond to this question?

It seems that very often, a Christian’s beliefs is separated from his identity as a person. lt’s happened to me and I’m sure it’s happened to other believers, as well. Sometimes I’ve done it deliberately to be someone to one group of people and someone else to another.

Well, I’m Rhesa. That isn’t my real name, of course, but it doesn’t hide who I am to others who know me well.

But how can I know that who I am in Christ doesn’t differentiate from who I am as a human being?

Now you’re legal!

I’ve been paying a minimal amount of attention to this story because I really don’t think there’s much truth to it (you know the drill: lots of hot air with nothing else to go on), but Bill Hobbs covered this back in July before it became the media circus that it is today.

‘Nuff said, IMO.

Belated note to self: Do not stick a pen in the pocket of pants headed for the laundry.

The Ink gets mischievous (to say the least).

I submitted a story for the Symposium hosted at Michael Williams’s blog.

And yes, Jason, I owe you some nickels.

Dictionary.com gives several definitions of this word: A figure of speech in which the expression is an evident exaggeration of the meaning intended to be conveyed, or by which things are represented as much greater or less, better or worse, than they really are; a statement exaggerated fancifully, through excitement, or for effect.

I got an email from a friend this morning - here’s a snippet:

It just struck me as noteworthy, when I read your last post. The harshness of the phrase “well, screw it.” in juxtapostion with the verse from Psalm 51, “Create in me a clean heart oh God, and renew a right spirit within me.” Not that you should take offence, and I’m not “rebuking” you. I’m not even saying its wrong. It just seemed a bit incongruous.

It was hyperbole, that’s all. Yeah, it does seem pretty, er, contradictory when facing the verse I put up for the next couple weeks, but the post was written during a moment of frustration.

And if I sound defensive of what I posted…well, scr– Oh, nevermind. (Heh.)

This week’s edition of the Carnival of the Vanities is being hosted by James Joyner at Outside the Beltway. ("Are you ready to rumb…!?” *ahem* Sorry, James, couldn’t resist.)

Next week, Carnival of the Vanities will be hosted here. I will be accepting entries up until midnight on August 27 (read: Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, at the stroke of 12), so drop me an e-mail.

Several corners have been discussing the issue of women in combat situations since the rescue of Pfc. Jessica Lynch. I won’t resurrect that debate here, but here is an article about something indirectly related: guns and women. An excerpt:

Some politicians began to actively encourage women to protect themselves by owning guns. When a serial killer was loose in Baton Rouge in the summer of 2002, Louisiana Gov. Mike Foster advised women “you have a right to get a [concealed] gun permit. … if you know how [to use a gun] and you have a situation with some fruitcake running around, like they’ve got right now, it sure can save you a lot of grief.”

Foster received the predictable backlash of outrage from gun control advocates who suddenly sounded sexist. Holley Galland Haymaker from the anti-gun group Louisiana Ceasefire argued: “Maybe if you’re a big, white guy who hunts all the time, it might do some good. For a woman who is surprise attacked, having a gun is only giving them [the attacker] another way to kill you.”

I will ignore the racist implications of this remark and simply ask, “Why would a white guy who hunts be more competent with a gun than a woman who is trained to use it?”