Randy Newman supplied the next line: "So let's drop the big one now."
I'm bemused by the anti-Obama claque's latest criticism, that President O is not urging the protesters in Iran to overthrow the government. Perhaps O has learned from the experience of George Bush Sr., in 1991 when he publically urged the Iraqis to overthrow Saddam. That did not work out any better than the US support for Chinese dissidents in 1989 in Tiananmen Square.
The right's panties are all in a twist because they actually believe that "attempted diplomacy" is a felony. I'm not sure what they suggest we do other than "not speaking to tyrants." That's pretty much been proven to be ineffective during the last 8 years. Maybe a softer approach will accomplish something.
In any event, I hope we have learned that we waste the lives and limbs of our troops when we send them to try and copy/paste democracy onto a theocratic society.
6/23/2009
6/16/2009
Gone Fishing - Update
4:50 AM
Dont look for me to post anything today; I'm going fishing. Stripers beware!
=================
(later that day)
"Home is the sailor, home from sea:
Her far-borne canvas furled
The ship pours shining on the quay
The plunder of the world. "
. . .
AE Houseman (RLS)
Old fisherman -
"On an East wind
The fish, will not be biting today
I dunno where they go
But me, I just mend my pots and nets
and drink gin."
Update - The fish they was not biting today; I came home with a sunburn and the smell of seaworms on my hands.
Dont look for me to post anything today; I'm going fishing. Stripers beware!
=================
(later that day)
"Home is the sailor, home from sea:
Her far-borne canvas furled
The ship pours shining on the quay
The plunder of the world. "
. . .
AE Houseman (RLS)
Old fisherman -
"On an East wind
The fish, will not be biting today
I dunno where they go
But me, I just mend my pots and nets
and drink gin."
Update - The fish they was not biting today; I came home with a sunburn and the smell of seaworms on my hands.
6/08/2009
I love my new job
It has been a week since I started my new job. For those of you who have not been paying attention, the new job is: Full Retirement. No more part time job. No more showering and shaving every day. No more Mr. Nice. You are probably asking yourself, what's next? Are you going to morph into another grumpy old fart (like George and Lefty?) who wear the same Kohl's shorts every day because, well, who cares? Who spend the day researching the blogosphere to support your pedantic musings about how bad Obama is doing? Or who leave snarky comments on your blog?
No, faithful fans; I am not retiring to oblivion, I am retiring to Life.
Since retiring, I notice that the time goes by quickly, compared to the plodding days spent on a tedious payroll 'working for the Man', wasting valuable time sitting in snarled traffic, grinding-out your shift with snarling co-workers and growling management, watching the clock until finally fleeing to your car to escape the dreaded workplace.
I spent most of the day yesterday on a ladder, painting the South end of the house. It was long overdue, as I am sure the neighbors on that side will attest. Some of you are saying to yourself what is that dumbass thinking, going on ladders at his age? Cripes, you sound like my wife. Hey, is more risky driving on Route 128 in rush hour on the way to some hideous job than standing on a well positioned ladder with a bucket of paint.
Painting, unlike most professional work, is quite rewarding. Instead of spending an hour everyday in traffic and then 8 hrs sitting on your fat ass looking busy, then coming home and pounding-down a few scotches to feel clean again, you get to transform an unsightly panel of peeling clapboard into a freshly coated, seductively smooth surface which brings delight to the eyes.
Instead of a shuffled pile of paper forms and flowcharts, you can actually see and admire your results. No backbiting colleague can take credit for your efforts, no one criticizes your grammar or spelling. Pleasantly exhausted by your physical activity, you are rewarded for your labors by a thirst slaking Sierra Nevada, or two.
The painting of the garage invoked the spontaneous sense of victory such as might have been experienced at war's end, or at the culmination of a successful shuttle flight. There was the drama of danger (I wonder if this ladder can hold over 250lbs), new perspectives (hey, up here you can see over the fence...is that the neighbor sunbathing...topless?) the essence human conflict (should I break for a beer or finish this section?) and the agony of the feet (yikes, they are cramped and sore from standing on narrow rungs all day).
Once the job was completed, standing there, swigging my beer, I imagined a celebration in appreciation for my restrative artistic skills. Passers-by and neighbors alike, drawn from their tedious tasks, coming to admire my work, cheering and carrying me like a hero on their shoulders in delirious collective joy.
The other thing about painting is that it doesn't require a lot of brainpower. This leaves the mind free for what might be called imagination.
No, faithful fans; I am not retiring to oblivion, I am retiring to Life.
Since retiring, I notice that the time goes by quickly, compared to the plodding days spent on a tedious payroll 'working for the Man', wasting valuable time sitting in snarled traffic, grinding-out your shift with snarling co-workers and growling management, watching the clock until finally fleeing to your car to escape the dreaded workplace.
I spent most of the day yesterday on a ladder, painting the South end of the house. It was long overdue, as I am sure the neighbors on that side will attest. Some of you are saying to yourself what is that dumbass thinking, going on ladders at his age? Cripes, you sound like my wife. Hey, is more risky driving on Route 128 in rush hour on the way to some hideous job than standing on a well positioned ladder with a bucket of paint.
Painting, unlike most professional work, is quite rewarding. Instead of spending an hour everyday in traffic and then 8 hrs sitting on your fat ass looking busy, then coming home and pounding-down a few scotches to feel clean again, you get to transform an unsightly panel of peeling clapboard into a freshly coated, seductively smooth surface which brings delight to the eyes.
Instead of a shuffled pile of paper forms and flowcharts, you can actually see and admire your results. No backbiting colleague can take credit for your efforts, no one criticizes your grammar or spelling. Pleasantly exhausted by your physical activity, you are rewarded for your labors by a thirst slaking Sierra Nevada, or two.
The painting of the garage invoked the spontaneous sense of victory such as might have been experienced at war's end, or at the culmination of a successful shuttle flight. There was the drama of danger (I wonder if this ladder can hold over 250lbs), new perspectives (hey, up here you can see over the fence...is that the neighbor sunbathing...topless?) the essence human conflict (should I break for a beer or finish this section?) and the agony of the feet (yikes, they are cramped and sore from standing on narrow rungs all day).
Once the job was completed, standing there, swigging my beer, I imagined a celebration in appreciation for my restrative artistic skills. Passers-by and neighbors alike, drawn from their tedious tasks, coming to admire my work, cheering and carrying me like a hero on their shoulders in delirious collective joy.
The other thing about painting is that it doesn't require a lot of brainpower. This leaves the mind free for what might be called imagination.
6/01/2009
Murder in Wichita
The death of the Wichita doctor who was murdered on Sunday could have been written-off as the act of a lunatic if it were not for the presumably sane original founder of Operation Rescue who called him a "mass murderer." A subrosa hint of approval: The baby killer got what was coming to him.
The current leaders of anti-abortion groups were quick and mechanical in their statements that they did not condone such action. They are anxious to get this piece of bad publicity out of the headlines so they can re-focus their efforts on the opposition to Obama's SCOTUS nominee, Sonja Sotomayor. They correctly see this as a setback because it focuses the spotlight on their collective loony obsession.
The late-term abortion issue has been hijacked by anti-abortion terrorists who have created an effective campaign of fear and intimidation against the practice, with grisly stories and even pictures on their websites. I say it has been effective because they have scared almost every doctor/nurse/receptionist/hospital administrator out of the field. Tiller was one of three doctors who were still performing legal late term abortions.
But despite the sanctimonious rantings of the likes of Bill O'Reilly et al, it appears that Dr Tiller was not the evil "angel of death", as he has been popularly characterized. He complied with the Kansas law against third-trimester abortions and was acquitted on all charges brought against him.
His patients were not women who found pregnancy inconvenient, but women who found themselves in a horrible dilemma, women whose pregnancies were welcomed but, because of medical complications, would endanger their own life or where abnormalities would doom the baby to a life of pain and suffering. His patients were referred by conscientious doctors who believed that termination was the only viable alternative in such cases. These were acts of compassion. The whackos called it "murder."
Certainly no thinking person wants to encourage late term abortions; but sometimes they are necessary, justified and legal. Tiller was courageously providing a necessary service to these poor women who deserved sympathy, not mindless hectoring from ignorant borderline wack jobs.
Postscript 6/5/09 here is one of the best articles I've seen on this topic
From WSJ June 4
The current leaders of anti-abortion groups were quick and mechanical in their statements that they did not condone such action. They are anxious to get this piece of bad publicity out of the headlines so they can re-focus their efforts on the opposition to Obama's SCOTUS nominee, Sonja Sotomayor. They correctly see this as a setback because it focuses the spotlight on their collective loony obsession.
The late-term abortion issue has been hijacked by anti-abortion terrorists who have created an effective campaign of fear and intimidation against the practice, with grisly stories and even pictures on their websites. I say it has been effective because they have scared almost every doctor/nurse/receptionist/hospital administrator out of the field. Tiller was one of three doctors who were still performing legal late term abortions.
But despite the sanctimonious rantings of the likes of Bill O'Reilly et al, it appears that Dr Tiller was not the evil "angel of death", as he has been popularly characterized. He complied with the Kansas law against third-trimester abortions and was acquitted on all charges brought against him.
His patients were not women who found pregnancy inconvenient, but women who found themselves in a horrible dilemma, women whose pregnancies were welcomed but, because of medical complications, would endanger their own life or where abnormalities would doom the baby to a life of pain and suffering. His patients were referred by conscientious doctors who believed that termination was the only viable alternative in such cases. These were acts of compassion. The whackos called it "murder."
Certainly no thinking person wants to encourage late term abortions; but sometimes they are necessary, justified and legal. Tiller was courageously providing a necessary service to these poor women who deserved sympathy, not mindless hectoring from ignorant borderline wack jobs.
Postscript 6/5/09 here is one of the best articles I've seen on this topic
From WSJ June 4
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