Friday, January 21, 2005
Interesting morning. Old Rustbucket is parked less than 25 feet from my sittin' spot and it never looked so good. Probably has to do with the thickest fog I've seen in a while. I'd take a photo but the windows are too dirty to make it worthwhile from here and since it's 37 degrees, going outside is out of the question. Kinda hard to believe I used to go for week-long solo hiking/camping trips in the High Sierras in January. Total wimp.
Wednesday didn't start out too well. Tuesday night I finished up a halfway decent day with a bowl of my combination swamp chili/vermicide properly augmented with extra morning delight, an old Mack Bolan shoot 'em up, and turned on the teevee for the late local news. As expected, coma promptly set in and everything would have been OK except for leaving the teevee on. At my normal 4:30 wake-up time, instead of gradually regaining my senses, blaring at me was that totally excreable creature, Barbara Boxer. The preferred method in the morning is just to lay there for a bit and digest any dreams that might have occurred, stretch like a old hound, then slowly apply the feet to the floor. Wednesday morning triggered the fight or flight reaction, couldn't get to the "off" knob fast enough. I'd much rather have stepped in puppy squat than start the day with an earload of that moonbat's crap.
Speaking of moonbats, I wonder how Michael Newdow took the inauguration yesterday. No I don't. Not really. To tell the truth, I could give less than a one bean fart how he and his ilk took it. Don't think I've heard as much prayin' and singin' since the last tent meeting!
More moonbattiness? Why not. I've kept the email subscription for Slate since it was first offered as it gives me such a wonderful view of lefty opinions. Monday, Jack Shafer had the most splendid eulogy for Marjorie Williams.
Washington's most dangerous profiler.
"Among the many lucky breaks George W. Bush can count in his charmed life add this one: Marjorie Williams fell sick with liver cancer in the summer of his first term, so he and the popinjays and courtiers of his administration never felt the full wicked wattage of her penetrating gaze.
Marjorie, who died yesterday at 47, possessed a scary and unerring talent. She could see character the way most of us see the visible spectrum. She could have been a detective or a psychotherapist, a novelist or a professional poker player, a businesswoman or a platoon leader. But after dropping out of college and working as a book editor, she chose journalism, much to the benefit of our profession and her readers.
As one who felt the Williams gaze in its friendly, playful form, I can only guess how it unsettled the Washington operators who absorbed its power full-beam. One minute Marjorie could be conversing like any normal person—listening, nodding, responding, and asking tame questions. Then without warning, her checkmate gaze might reach out and tap you, giving you a nanosecond's warning of an incisive question that would cut to the essence—usually of a personal matter. Most of her subjects found that they couldn't evade the question because 1) they'd never heard it before; and 2) they were as interested in learning the answer as she was." (snip)
Yeah. Right. I'm certain her "reporting" was faultless. Such a lovely eulogy.
* * * * * *
Time to go outside and play with the chainsaw for a while. How about a cute little video clip to de-sour the tongue?
Kelly Ripped
Wednesday didn't start out too well. Tuesday night I finished up a halfway decent day with a bowl of my combination swamp chili/vermicide properly augmented with extra morning delight, an old Mack Bolan shoot 'em up, and turned on the teevee for the late local news. As expected, coma promptly set in and everything would have been OK except for leaving the teevee on. At my normal 4:30 wake-up time, instead of gradually regaining my senses, blaring at me was that totally excreable creature, Barbara Boxer. The preferred method in the morning is just to lay there for a bit and digest any dreams that might have occurred, stretch like a old hound, then slowly apply the feet to the floor. Wednesday morning triggered the fight or flight reaction, couldn't get to the "off" knob fast enough. I'd much rather have stepped in puppy squat than start the day with an earload of that moonbat's crap.
Speaking of moonbats, I wonder how Michael Newdow took the inauguration yesterday. No I don't. Not really. To tell the truth, I could give less than a one bean fart how he and his ilk took it. Don't think I've heard as much prayin' and singin' since the last tent meeting!
More moonbattiness? Why not. I've kept the email subscription for Slate since it was first offered as it gives me such a wonderful view of lefty opinions. Monday, Jack Shafer had the most splendid eulogy for Marjorie Williams.
Washington's most dangerous profiler.
"Among the many lucky breaks George W. Bush can count in his charmed life add this one: Marjorie Williams fell sick with liver cancer in the summer of his first term, so he and the popinjays and courtiers of his administration never felt the full wicked wattage of her penetrating gaze.
Marjorie, who died yesterday at 47, possessed a scary and unerring talent. She could see character the way most of us see the visible spectrum. She could have been a detective or a psychotherapist, a novelist or a professional poker player, a businesswoman or a platoon leader. But after dropping out of college and working as a book editor, she chose journalism, much to the benefit of our profession and her readers.
As one who felt the Williams gaze in its friendly, playful form, I can only guess how it unsettled the Washington operators who absorbed its power full-beam. One minute Marjorie could be conversing like any normal person—listening, nodding, responding, and asking tame questions. Then without warning, her checkmate gaze might reach out and tap you, giving you a nanosecond's warning of an incisive question that would cut to the essence—usually of a personal matter. Most of her subjects found that they couldn't evade the question because 1) they'd never heard it before; and 2) they were as interested in learning the answer as she was." (snip)
Yeah. Right. I'm certain her "reporting" was faultless. Such a lovely eulogy.
* * * * * *
Time to go outside and play with the chainsaw for a while. How about a cute little video clip to de-sour the tongue?
Kelly Ripped
