First, welcome to the blogroll Diary of a Soldier, penned by a local soldier now serving in Iraq. I do not know the individual’s identity, but local blogger Patrick Eakes vouches for him.
Also, after the recent bloggers’ meetup, I’m delighted to be able to move a bunch of blogs from the “other N.C. blogs” category to the “Bloggers I know in real life” category. We’re buildin’ community, baby.
You know, I could explain all the issues with respect to the ongoing debate over Social Security. I could.
But that would take years and cost thousands, perhaps millions, of lives.
Or …
I could just let Fafnir do it for me. And if I do that, I think we’ll all have a better time.
Hooper’s new favorite greeting: “Daddy! You! Are! An abomination!”
I mean, duh, but does he have to say it so loudly?
Mr. Witt of Witt and Wisdom says the technology is insufficiently developed to prevent major structural damage to one’s home. Well, that’s my wording. His is funnier.
The Vatican is praising an Italian woman whose refusal to have an abortion allowed her to die of cancer just weeks after giving birth. She learned she had cancer about the time she became pregnant and would have had to have an abortion to undergo the toxic treatments needed to keep her cancer at bay.
The last time the Vatican took note of such behavior, about 40 years ago, it ultimately declared the woman in question a saint.
Part of me admires her decision. But part of me also wants to shake her and say, “Don’t your other two kids need their mother? Doesn’t your husband need his wife?”
If, God forbid, we ever found ourselves in the same situation, I would defer to my wife in deciding what to do, after giving her my opinion. And that opinion is that no matter what the Vatican thinks, sometimes there are worse things than abortion.
Counterfeit red snapper, that is. The greatness of Nawlins cuisine demands it!
UPDATE: Link via Phred, which I forgot to mention before.
I got some good news and some bad news this morning.
The good news: My waist has shrunk enough that I could tighten my belt another notch.
The bad news: My weight remains exactly. The same. That lost inch ain’t lost; apparently it has only flown south for the winter.
I once was fortunate enough to see a performance by the Reduced Shakespeare Co.’s performance of “The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, Abridged.” It was stone hilarious (and has been running for eight straight years in London).
While en route to something else, I stumbled across Squashed Philosophers, a similarly compressed, and pretty funny, abridged version of the (surprisingly small) canon of Western philosophical thought. I’m thinking Tony Plutonium, who once majored in philosophy for a while before deciding he’d like to eat after graduation, might particularly enjoy this.
How often, and under what circumstances, do prosecutor, defense attorney and judge agree on the facts of a case?
Not that you cared, but I’d avoided commenting on Johnny Carson’s death until I could find a suitably perceptive obituary to link to. Now I’ve found it.
I’ve also found the moment from Carson’s show that many people consider the funniest moment ever to occur on a TV talk show. Although this clip doesn’t show it, the laughter after the punch line continued for many minutes.
Goodbye, Johnny. And thanks.
Me: Hooper, where are your pants?
Hooper: Ida know.
M: Why did you take them off?
H: Ida know.
M (finding pants): Oh, here they are. … They’re wet. Did you have an accident?
H: No.
M: Yes, you did, buddy. That’s OK. It happens sometimes. But you need to get your wet underpants off, too.
H: They’re not wet!
M (checking): Oh … you’re right. (sniffing; grimacing) But this is pee-pee on your pants. How did you get pee-pee on your pants?
H: Ida know.
M: Did you take them off and pee-pee on them?
H: No, daddy!
M: So how did they get pee-pee on them?
H: I landed in it when I slid down the slide (from his bed, which is elevated).
M: You landed in — Hooper! Why did you pee-pee on the floor?
H: Ida know.
M: We don’t pee-pee on the floor! We only pee-pee in the potty!
H: I know. I sorry. I won’ do it again, Daddy.
M: OK. (pause) But why did you pee-pee on the floor?
H: Ida know.
M: And if you knew there was pee-pee down there, why did you slide down into it?
H: Cuz it was there.
Via Alex comes detailed advice, with illustrations, on how to preserve the lost art of spooning. Not addressed is the problem of what to do when your significant other insists that a body pillow be allowed to make it a threesome. And really not addressed is what to do when, as my step-brother-in-law tells me my stepsister does, one’s significant other insists on calling her body pillow “Antonio Banderas.”
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Greetings to everyone, and there are quite a few of you, who have found your way here from Avedon Carol’s The Sideshow. It’s not quite an Instalanche, but it’s a very nice crowd. Please make yourselves comfortable!
So Heather of This Fish Needs a Bicycle ordered herself an iPod to celebrate her having gotten over a breakup. My cubemate at work got one. Herb is getting one. They’re all over the N&R’s Life section today.
Now, don’t get me wrong: Thanks to my lovely and talented wife, I got a wonderful computer for Christmas, a computer so wonderful that I can basically edit my own movies on it (as along as I’m not, like, remaking “Berlin Alexanderplatz” or something) and burn ‘em to DVD.
And yet … so many people are so enthusiastic about their iPods that I feel as if I’m missing something.
And then there’s the whole thing where you can get your iPod engraved. Heather’s reads, “This Fish needs an iPod.” What would mine read, had I one? “If it’s too loud, you’re too old”? Seems kind of out of place on something you listen to only through headphones, but I guess I could always tell people it’s ironic.
What would it say? “I’ll sleep when I’m dead”? “This middle-aged white guy needs an iPod”? “What part of ‘Congress shall make no law’ don’t you understand?”?
It’s a puzzle.
… it’s mindless celebrity gossip, normally not a Blog on the Run staple but presented here because it’s from the high-larious She-Dork, who, with her husband, KSA, is soon to become a North Carolinian. (Probably not soon enough to attend Triangle Bloggercon, unfortunately.)
