Deserted.

It's the 30th of the month. Must be payday for somebody in this town, but the Mall has been empty, the food court deserted for the last three days. Seriously deserted. Zombie-like.

Where are all the people?
	The weather's too nice to be indoors.
	Everybody's scared shitless. By everything.
	Obama's tax credit must not be all that.
	Nobody has a job.
	The Chick Fil A guy looks feverish; bird flu?
	I dunno, but I want the Segway the Mall Cop is riding.
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Keepin' On The Sunny Side

Let's see what's left to be politicized. So far we have:

National Security? Check.
Climate Science? Check.
Health Care? Check.
Race Relations? Ongoing check.
Military engagements? Check.

And now we have a Flu Pandemic panic. Can we really believe the CDC is not politicized?

Do you see the problem here, Democrats?

Upside: Job Market should be opening up soon. . .

Obama - St. Louis Connections

WTF with Obama's using St. Louis as a power base? Anybody?

Pig Flu Proof!

Oh, how I laughed!

[update: no, I'm not a heartless beeyatch. I posted this before recent news.]

Stolen from the NSFW Curmudgeon.

Go and Wash in the Pool of Siloam

Gerard Van DerLeun has the healing prescriptive for yesterday's outrageous scarring of the national psyche. Go and read it all.

Obama's Psy-Ops on New York

You gotta be feckkin' kidding me:

A jumbo jet being chased by a F-16 fighter jets buzzed Lower Manhattan this morning, panicking New Yorkers, many of whom were forced to evacuate their office buildings.

Gobsmacked. Dumbfounded. Inconceivable.

Oh yes, he can:

Did he learn what he wanted to know?

Did our enemies learn what he wanted them to know?

Just . . . WTF?

Diestra. Siniestra

Right and Left. And classical liberalism. You will never find it more artfully expounded, and the idea of moderate integralism (combining Left and Right as equally meaningful) more purposefully dismissed:

This conflict has to do with the fundamental dialectic between our individual-ism and social-ism. There is nothing wrong with the latter, as we cannot be an individual in the absence of the group. The problem with the left is that they replace the "interior we" with the "exterior us," which means that they replace spontaneous civil society with state coercion. This is how to best understand, say, the attempt to undermine marriage (the fundamental "we" of civilization), or destroy the Boy Scouts, or eliminate conservative radio, or reduce the deduction for charitable giving. The left wants you to always look first to the government for help, not fellow human beings.

Again, when I use the word "left," I mean it as a shorthand to designate any philosophy that conceives of our liberty in the opposite way -- as only freedom to -- say, to get an abortion, or to be paid a "living wage," or to receive free health care, or to "marry" someone of the same sex. These are not real freedoms, if only because they involve coercion of someone else. For example, a "living wage" simply means that the government must force someone to pay you more than you are worth, while "free" healthcare simply means that you want to force someone else to pay for it.

Likewise, the absolute "right" to abortion can only be grounded in a metaphysic that maintains that human beings are literally worthless. The absurd outcome for the leftist is that human rights are more precious than human beings (which we see replayed in the interrogation debate). For the leftist, the right to abortion is sacred, while the human being to whom the right is owed is of no more value than a decayed tooth. But stranger beliefs can be found on the left, the reason being that it is fundamentally rooted in the absolutization of the relative, which is the very essence of the absurd

It wouldn't kill you to read the whole thing. Skip over the tribal shorthands and enjoy.

Will Obama Start Using Hand Sanitizer like GWB? UPDATED.

It's getting harder and harder for the Media Blogosphere to remember its concerns about racial equality. Or whatever.

But let's hope that Barry-O, the consummate Man Without Borders, will continue to touch the leprous hands of the world and prove his Divinity by coming away unharmed. What further proof do we need?

However, if I have to shake hands with the man, I'm by-gawd gonna use hand sanitizer.

[updated because you won't find this in the news and ya'll just won't click:]

The outbreak coincided with the President Barack Obama’s trip to Mexico City on April 16. Obama was received at Mexico’s anthropology museum in Mexico City by Felipe Solis, a distinguished archeologist who died the following day from symptoms similar to flu, Reforma newspaper reported. The newspaper didn’t confirm if Solis had swine flu or not.

Would that there were some sort of sanitizer for the hands that so heartily embraced Chavez.

Paper Dragons

Information overload.

Papers and dockets and folders and paperclips and staples and envelopes and faxes and stamps and labels and papers and books and reviews and bills and copies and paper and files and computers and files and . . .

It makes me wonder how important it all really is. I would not take away one iota of human pathos from the tragedy of 9/11, but I do ponder what happened to all of the all-important notarized, certified, sealed, stamped and registered information that disappeared on that day.

I've tried to find some story, any story of someone somewhere whose life was discomfited in some significant way by the loss of an important original document in that awe-ful event.

Anyone?

And if not? What the hell are we doing, slaying paper dragons, day in and day out?

Oh right. To keep the IRS off our backs.

Dear Pirates: The Ante Just Got Upped

Pirates have been put on notice, and none too soon. I knew this was in the works, (hey, why be a fan if you can't know cool stuff?) I just didn't know it was so close at hand. Still, I do love a good surprise! The pirates-- maybe not so much:

Captain Max Hardberger and Mr. Michael Bono today announced their newest venture: VessEx's Shiprotek:

VessEx protection teams, composed of former Special Forces personnel, ride with ships in high-risk waters to prevent pirates from boarding their clients’ vessels and harming the crews.

How friggin' hot would this kind of work look on one's resume?

A VessEx Shiprotek team will board a client’s vessel anywhere in the world, escort it through troubled areas, and disembark in its next safe port. During the voyage, the team assesses the ship’s security situation, trains the crew in anti-piracy techniques, implements procedures to minimize risk, and assists the crew in maintaining anti-piracy watch. When a threat is identified, the team implements its counter-piracy procedures.

"Counter-piracy procedures." That must be seafaring code for, step off, ye scurvy knaves!

If I were a ship's Captain, I'd certainly like to have seasoned professionals-- cool-headed and sharp-focused-- aboard for protection. And I know plenty of bloggers that would sign on for that kind of ride.

Sorry to turn this into an All-Pirates, All The Time! blog, but I just have to write things as they arrive in my brain-pan.

So, you signed up yet?

Just. . . daa-yum!

Another Bedtime Story

Because life is too serious not to dream:

Another Bedtime Story

We outgrow our bedtime stories
trading monsters and fair maidens
for the hard-won moment's glories
of an evening's relaxation

Now we numb our thoughts and passion
give ourselves to faint blue light
let the subtler monsters rush in
selfish ogres, aging plights

Yet awaits a land to dream in
good and rightness there prevail
gentle lull of moonlight beams in
as she arcs the sky full sail

Take the hand of your moon maiden
dream of dragons, deeds and fame
you're a ship with treasures laden
a barbarian without shame

Cutlass-garbed and burden free
say goodbye to lesser mortals
venture into that bright sea
dream of lands with shining portals

bedtime stories never leave us
we just give them diff'rent frock
time for bed now, oh my darling
let us dream away the clock

-Joan Varga

Of Pirates, Garottes and Ghosts

When I made good money telling ghost stories I would retell the glory of the gory garrote in vivid detail, to the delight of my gentle ghost-hunting companions. [My little town still celebrates the garrote!]

I'd retrace the event: How a pirate would be taken to the central square, just there to your left, where a deep post-hole had been dug and a sturdy palm-tree log had been planted. Into that log a hole was drilled, placed at about neck height. Too high or too low for the intended pirate was no matter, the garrote would function well enough.

The now former and unrepentant pirate would be backed up to the post, and his hands tied behind his back or around the back of the post. A boat-line about half of an inch in diameter would be slipped through the hole in the post, around the miscreant's neck, and back through the post. The ends of the rope would be tied securely together forming a small loop at the back of the post, and through the resulting loop a sturdy stick was threaded; you must, dear reader, imagine that at this point I would raise up my stunning silver-topped cane and provide animation to the idea.

The executioner would proceed to turn the stick, twisting the rope tighter and tighter. (And here I have my black-gloved hands opposed on my cane, giving stilted half-turns of emphasis as I recount the tragic justice.) The assembled onlookers would shout "Arrre!" with each turn. It seems a slow hanging, does it not?

Oh, but you are mistaken! It is much more gruesome. The thinness of the rope, the weight of the scurvy pirate, the tender nature of the windpipe of even the heartiest misanthrope makes for a startling lesson in physics and physiology as the garotte becomes more a knife and less a method of strangulation. For you see, the rope begins to cut as the knees begin to buckle, the windpipe is crushed and severed and the knavish pirate drowns in his own blood!

Now then, no tears for the pirates my dear companions, for I assure you that they were boil-stricken, toothless, pock-marked and vermin infested sorts; and not a one of them looked like Johnny Depp or Orlando Bloom.

**********

Of course, now we just pop 'em from the poop deck. Heh.

(h/t LeeAnn)

**********

Remember when you dreamed of being a Pirate? Cut it out!

However, if you're still determined to be a pirate, be the Good Sort.

I have learned that all is still on course for the arrival of Max Hardberger's latest book, The Good Pirate, in March, 2010.I am in a decided pout to have to wait so long, but have just found a link on his vast website to a newsclipping account of a rout that was delivered to state-sponsored pirates in Venezuela.

Oh, how that gratifies! An independent and resourceful man going up against a corrupt government and its machinations. And winning. Not enough details to suit me, but if you want details about "extractions" you'll have to read his book, Freighter Captain. Still one of my all-time favorites.

Personally, I'd like to see Capt. Phillips and Capt. Max get together and compare notes. That would be an awesome interview, but I'm thinking Mr. Hardberger will have to take a number. And huzzah! for good Capt. Phillips, another exemplary man who placed his crew in safety and bore the weight of the impasse alone. It does a heart good to know that our country still produces selfless men like Capt. Phillips, and our military men who rescued him. I could care less about the politics of such men, just please Lord, let there be more of them!

It will remain to their friends and fell companions to recount their deeds.

Just not as ghost stories, okay?

Go Full Screen For This!

Yee Haw! Maybe it's better to see this before dinner. I'm still all barfy from watching it, but it's feckkin' cool:

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Haiku the Blue Sea

Sparrow's hosting this week's Haiku contest, and as ever, the winner gets a lovely care package sent off to some lucky soldier. Go vote for your favorite! [link updated.]

Here's mine:

a borderless blue
siren songs of willing wind
crisp canvas, long keel

******

Internet problems have been pretty frustrating these last 10 days so if it seems like I'm phoning it in, I practically am. The local cigar bar provides free wi-fi, which means I'm achieving bar-fly status as I blog from the comfy club chairs.

Oh, did I mention that I drank my first beer back in March?

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Muscovite Mayhem

Russians. After a couple of generations of oppression and Communism, they have learned some fairly wicked ways to entertain themselves at college. I guess youth is irrepressible and determined to have fun, regardless. Take notes. We may want to negotiate for a more permanent peace:

Yeah, I'm still slammed at work. Ya'll play nice until I get back. No running naked through the comment section!

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My New Favorite Time Waster

It's been a loonnnnng time since I found something so mesmerizing and calming. It amuses, in the best, Zen way.

Bonus: it's musical, too!

But, kinda like wind chimes: great for you, not so much for your neighbors.

Go have fun. I gotta work.

Baby-Making

For Paul and Heather:



Be sure to watch all 47 seconds!

How High the Sky?

Sometimes, when we think that we couldn't wallow much lower in our misery, some Mind finds a fit and proper conduit of creativity and inspiration to remind us of something very important. It's too easy to think you're at your nadir when you've never imagined how high the sky really goes. And for some converse Reason, you are lifted beyond your little pity-party:

AND STILL WE RISE, our lush ascent
powered by ageless diatoms' descent
into the ooze between the fossiled stones,
the shattered crypts of shells and bones;
above the planned green autumn fields
of pasture, silage, grain that yields
the bread we break in this, our floating world.

Oh, you must read it all. From Van Der Leun, of course.

Happy Easter!

Blog It, or Save It for Post Secret?

Post-Secret. Too gauche? Or is it the ultimate cyber-therapy? A little post card mailed to the unknown in hopes of seeing it online, and thus feel one's troubles alleviated by the validation of anonymous strangers who don't judge; one's sins excused by anonymous sinners or reveled in by tacit approval: publication.

But does it help?

I think it helps the narcissist to see themselves "out there" else why do we blog? But mostly, I think it's emotional voyeurism for the rest of us. Soap Operas writ small for the Twitter Set.

There's only so much drama and personal interaction we can sustain in this fast-paced society. Even your own family will proffer all sorts of squishy sentiments and offers of help, but in the end, it's a bit of soft-soap. If your troubles are large enough, they'll all back away, smiling, offering to pray for you.

Maybe the reduction to prayer is the real Secret.

.

Don't Wanna Play Well With Others

Birds of a feather and all that.

I don't like your rap, your rasta, your dreds, your drugs, your drama, yo mama, or any of that.

I don't speak your lingo, don't like your lip-piercings, or care for your culture. Had enough of your stuff, and just wanna get back to me and mine. I wanna read about your good times and amazing accomplishments but don't wanna bow at your altar, worship your gods, or feed your fetishes.

I don't wanna know about your sex life, your size, your stamina, your preferences... if I do, I'll want credible references. Know what I mean?

I don't wanna hear your gum-cracking, lip-smacking, cell-phone yakkin' in my ear.

Don't need to hear about things about you and yours that I may have to testify in court about.

Don't want to wait at the light while you finish your texting, sexting, boyfriend ex'ing messages.

Tired of looking at your crap blowing across my yard, your cigarette butts on the street, your naked and oversized limbs, your camel-toes or boxer shorts or misshapen boobs.

Look, I'm civilized, why can't you be? I don't need you to like me, don't need your country to like my country. Doesn't mean we can't get along as business partners or neighbors. Unless you insist on blinding lights, or all-night parties.

Other than that, won't you be my neighbor?

The Job Hunter's Cardapult

Now if he could just make a trebuchet, then I'd really be impressed:

Honestly. You gotta strut your stuff on YouTube and tweet it on Twitter if you want the edge in securing employment.

Ya'll get busy. One job I applied for had well over 800 resumes sent in response.

. . .And If The Truth Were an Impossibility?

Vanderleun:

Not for a moment do I think that what I see in this image is that. I believe... no... I know for a fact that what I am seeing is merely gas and stars in a seemingly random arrangement shining in a narrow, very narrow, part of the spectrum so that, to my deeper mind and imagination, I pull together some vague shapes in the play of color on the void and relate it to what I have seen elsewhere, felt elsewhen -- and out of that produce a feeling, thought, in my mind that makes my eyes see what appears to be an impossible hand reaching across space long ago in exactly nowhere. It's a cosmic Rorschach image, a glowing gasblot somewhere in limitless space. That it is a 'hand' is impossible. It is even more impossible that it is even an image of a hand.

It's as fine a meditation for Holy Week as you are likely to read.

Blue Sky, Blue Heeler.

I can't worry about much when taking the Pepper Dog for a walk on day so mild and munificent in its graces. It's still great to be a dog, I guess:

I do love the Pepper Dog when she's just being the Primordial beastie she was created to be, but srsly, she's smiling! I need to get a picture comparison of her left and right eyelashes. The right side are white, the left side are black. She don't care. Life is good.

Hah! No Inheritance for You!

How my son cheers up his decrepit mother on her birthday.

Escuincle malvado!

Shut Up and Click Me

You won't be sorry.

Yeah. I'm all about the happy stuff.

Taking the Hamster For a Wok

It's my birthday. Humor me. I laughed and laughed.

Shut up! It is not a metaphor:

h/t Jonah Goldberg @ The Corner.

Things That Made Me Smile Today

Michael Malone's Headline is the Quote of the Year.

***

Newt gets it almost right. I would only differ in that I believe we need numerous factions on both the Right and the Left in order to keep the MSM honest and out of political gaming. They'd certainly have to actually, you know, at least keep a spreadsheet of the talking points instead of the monolithic pamphleteering they currently enlist from JournoList.

***

LeeAnn. 'nuff said.

***

This joke, sent to me by the Velocigod, which I have reworked to amuse my own interests:

Did you hear about the Obama voter who found a magic lamp? The genie granted him one wish. He looked at his delapidated hovel, then at his neighbor's nicer, bigger, more splendid house. And he bade the genie to burn down his neighbor's house.

***

This video, stolen from the courtesy of CastoCreations:

And while I defend Ward Churchill's right to be an ass, and his employer's right to fire him for being an ass, I am truly gratified to see that Mr. Churchill's jury of his peers has decided his ass is only worth $1. And with the inflation we'll soon see, he'd better hope he gets his award pretty quick lest his assets evaporate.

A Kinder, Gentler, New World Order?

GHWB must be so proud:

I'm sorry, but. . . no.

Far be it from me to set myself up as a fashion plate. I've neither the breeding nor the bread for such a title. But if I may channel that liberal hate-fest of bad fashion, this is definitely a What Not To Wear moment for Mrs. Obama:

That pillowcase of a skirt, the over-heavy necklace, the too-tight pajama patterned cardigan, [oh ugh! update: the sweater is all shiny and glittery. In the daytime.] the clunky bracelet. OMG the hair. No, no, no. And yet the Media Monkeys (sue me) fawn over her choices as pragmatic. As in, proletariat, I guess. The French must be loving this.

I'll just sit here and wait for Suzette to chime in with the better snark. But, seriously, even I coulda dressed her better than that.

We may have rebelled against tyranny, but not against good fashion sense.

Oh, why doesn't the press just go ahead and propose?

Cookie Cutter Shark Bite

--- looks exactly as you think it would: like someone was trying to cut a biscuit round outta this guy's leg.

(No, it's not as gross as you might think, but then, I've worked in creating reference materials for wound-care providers so I may not be a good judge of gross.)

The Gecko-Feeder's brother has become a bit famous. Apparently, it's the first recorded case of a human being latched onto by one of these critters:

Just one more critter for Jimbo to have nightmares about.