"From above, the land is like one endless, unpunctuated idea — sand, tumbleweed, turkey, bunch stem, buffalo, meadow, cow, rick of hay, creek, sunflower, sand — and only rarely did a house or a windmill or a barn suddenly appear to suspend the sense of limitlessness." - - Life Along the 100th Meridian
2015 Ford Mustang as reveled by Ford and yes, Virginia, there is a convertible.
1964 Ford Mustang -- Serial Number: One
The way Gail Wise tells it, she was just looking for a car to get her to her first job out of college, and was growing tired of her parents' '57 Ford Fairlane, when she went to Johnson Ford in Chicago. After a tour of the showroom turned up nothing of interest, the salesman said “I’ve got something in the back that's really new" — a light blue Mustang convertible, fully loaded with a 260 V-8 and a power top.
Do not watch if sensitive to heights and people practicing extreme stupidity to overcome the boredom of their lives. Last week in Moab two base jumpers made their last jump straight down to the base. Not a good afternoon for those who have to carry the bodies out, but a thrill a second for those going in... until the last few seconds.
Update: From the same part of the world near Moab, Utah, about three weeks back:
The cost? "Compression Fracture of the T12 Vertebra, 5 stitches to the eye, 6 stitches to the chin, severely sprained Back, wrist and hand. multiple bruised areas."
Not bad at all, considering....
"Desiring to secure her later years financially, and avoid the poorhouse, Annie Edson Taylor decided she would be the first person to ride over Niagara Falls in a barrel.
Taylor used a custom-made barrel for her trip, constructed of oak and iron and padded with a mattress. Several delays occurred in the launching of the barrel, particularly because no one wanted to be part of a potential suicide. Two days before Taylor's own attempt, a domestic cat was sent over the Horseshoe Falls in her barrel to test its strength. Contrary to rumors at the time, the cat survived the plunge and 17 minutes later, after she was found with a bleeding head, posed with Taylor in photographs.
"On October 24, 1901, her 63rd birthday, the barrel was put over the side of a rowboat, and Taylor climbed in, along with her lucky heart-shaped pillow. After screwing down the lid, friends used a bicycle tire pump to compress the air in the barrel. The hole used for this was plugged with a cork, and Taylor was set adrift near the American shore, south of Goat Island.
"The Niagara River currents carried the barrel toward the Canadian Horseshoe Falls, which has since been the site for all daredevil stunting at Niagara Falls. Rescuers reached her barrel shortly after the plunge. Taylor was discovered to be alive and relatively uninjured, except for a small gash on her head. The trip itself took less than twenty minutes, but it was some time before the barrel was actually opened. After the journey, Annie Taylor told the press:
“If it was with my dying breath, I would caution anyone against attempting the feat... I would sooner walk up to the mouth of a cannon, knowing it was going to blow me to pieces than make another trip over the Fall."Annie Edson Taylor @ La Wik
The amalgamated fantasies of youth for 2013. Some will just live it. Most will just continue to live in their parent's basement.
Advertising signs they con
You into thinking you’re the one
That can do what’s never been done
That can win what’s never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you
It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) Bob Dylan
A mashup of the 25 biggest hits during 2013 in the U.S.
Avicii feat. Aloe Blacc - Wake Me Up
Bruno Mars - When I Was Your Man
Capital Cities - Safe & Sound
Daft Punk feat. Pharrell Williams - Get Lucky
Eminem feat. Rihanna - The Monster
Florida Georgia Line feat. Nelly - Cruise
Imagine Dragons - Radioactive
Imagine Dragons - Demons
Jay-Z feat. Justin Timberlake - Holy Grail
Justin Timberlake - Mirrors
Justin Timberlake feat. Jay-Z - Suit & Tie
Katy Perry - Roar
Lady Gaga - Applause
Lorde - Royals
Macklemore & Ryan Lewis feat. Ray Dalton - Can't Hold Us
Macklemore & Ryan Lewis feat. Wanz - Thrift Shop
Miley Cyrus - Wrecking Ball
Miley Cyrus - We Can't Stop
OneRepublic - Counting Stars
P!nk feat. Nate Ruess - Just Give Me A Reason
Rihanna - Stay
Robin Thicke feat. Pharrell & T.I. - Blurred Lines
Swedish House Mafia feat. John Martin - Don't You Worry Child
Taylor Swift - I Knew You Were Trouble
Will.I.Am feat. Britney Spears - Scream And Shout
Okay, I know. You haven't been paying attention and neither have I. I don't make the pop culture anymore, I just report it.
Who says there's no good news?
Obama Approval Down Most Among Hispanics in Past Year President Barack Obama's job approval rating averaged 41% in November, down 12 percentage points from 53% last December, his high-water mark since his first year in office. Hispanics' approval has dropped 23 points over the last 12 months, the most among major subgroups, and nearly twice the national average. His approval rating also showed above-average declines among low-income Americans, nonwhites, moderates, and moderates who identify with or lean toward the Democratic Party.
Looks to me like pretty much everybody has started to tip-toe towards the exit on this Shamwow scam man.
Hit Me With Your Best Shot!
Why Don't You Hit Me With Your Best Shot!
Hit Me With Your Best Shot!
Serving Suggestion: Full Screen, lights off, volume up. Even better, go 'Original' for 4K.
Sometimes it's possible to set Sultan Knish to music. This is one of those times:
I was flabbergasted by the headlines
People in glasshouses throwing stones
Gaping wounds that will never heal
Now they're moaning like a dog in a manger
And it's a matter of survival
When you're born with your back against the wall
Won't somebody hand me a bible
Won't you give me that number to call
When that rough god goes riding
And then that rough god goes gliding
They'll be nobody hiding
When that rough god goes riding on in
Riding on in
There'll be no more heroes
They'll be reduced to zero
When that rough god goes riding
Riding on in
Riding on in
Riding on in
Instead of this golden age, the tyranny of the avatar grows,
coercion increases, protests spread and the project decays into a totalitarian state or is overthrown. The golden age never arrives. The ideal is slain by the real. And the true believers go into mourning for what might have been.The tyranny of the ideal is the most brutal of all
tyrannies for men and women are not ideal; they are real. Its plans are bound to fail and yet it has such a passionate grip on the minds of its believers that it is bound to rise again and again.And so this cycle of the liberal god who dies and rises again, dies and rises, keeps repeating.
As long as the tyranny of the ideal remains a rallying cry, as long as men and women choose to believe that a better world can be created through central planning, forcible redistribution and mass reeducation then the cycle will continue. No matter how often the liberal god dies, he will rise again.The secular god of the progressive ideal has become an entity of life, death and rebirth.
Its failures only incite its followers to believe that it will come again. It does not matter how many gulags and mass graves lie in its wake. It is a matter of faith. And in a secular world, there is nothing left to believe in except a better world. Obama is dying now. ObamaCare, his great work, has failed. Like Ra and all the others, he will pass into the darkness and the ideas will reemerge again in a new avatar. Sultan Knish: The Liberal God Dies Again
1. I will have the most transparent administration.
2. I have Shovel ready jobs.
3. The IRS is not targeting anyone.
4. If four Americans get killed, it is not optimal.
5. There are going to be bumps in the road. (referring to Libya and Egypt protests/attacks).
6. ObamaCare will be good for America.
7. You can keep your family doctor.
8. Premiums will be lowered by $2500
9. You can keep your current healthcare plan
10. Just shop around, for that healthcare I claimed you wouldn't lose.
11. I am sorry you lost your healthcare, (you know the health care you have to shop around for, ya the same health care I said you could keep, yup, that's the one).
12. I did not say you could keep your health care. (Regardless that 29 recorded videos show I did)
13. ObamaCare will not be offered to illegal immigrants.
14. ObamaCare will not be used to fund abortions.
15. ObamaCare will cost less than 1 Trillion Dollars.
16. No one making under $250,000 will see their taxes raised one dime.
17. It is Bushes fault. (this can be inserted in between every statement).
18. It was about a movie.
19. I will fundamentally transform America. (This one sadly is very true)
20. If I had a son.
21. I am not a dictator.
22. I will put an end to the type of politics that “breeds division, conflict and cynicism".
23. You didn't build that.
24. I will restore trust in Government.
25. The Cambridge police acted stupidly.
26. I am not after your guns.
27. The fact that we are here today to debate raising America's debt limit is a sign of leadership failure. The BHO of (2006).
28. I have been practicing...I bowled a 129. It's like -- it was like Special Olympics.
29. "If I don't have this done in three years, then this is going to be a one-term proposition.
30. I do think at a certain point you've made enough money.
31. I think when you spread the wealth around, it's good for everybody.
32. The Public Will Have 5 Days To Look At Every Bill That Lands On My Desk
33. It's not my red line it is the worlds red line.
34. Whistle blowers will be protected.
35. We got back Every Dime we Used to Rescue the Banks, with interest.
36. I am good at killing people.
37. I will close Gitmo. (but instead built them a $750,000 soccer field).
38. The point I was making was not that Grandmother harbors any racial animosity. She doesn't, but she is a typical white person
39. I am not spying on American citizens.
40. By, on, on, by, Friday uh afternoon things get a little uh, uh challenged uh, uh ( when left to think for himself without a Teleprompter).
41. I am a Christian.
42. John McCain has not talked about my Muslim faith.
43. It's not surprising, then, they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy.
44. UPS and FedEx are doing just fine, right? It's the Post Office that's always having problems. (Attempting to make the case for government-run healthcare).
45. What’s good for illegal immigrants is also good for people who are losing their health insurance because of Obamacare.
And the biggest lie of all
I Barrack Hussain Obama pledge to preserve protect and defend the Constitution of the United States of America.
Solar Eclipse as Seen from the International Space Station
The Universe as Seen by Dante Alighieri
As the geometrician, who endeavours
To square the circle, and discovers not,
By taking thought, the principle he wants,
Even such was I at that new apparition;
I wished to see how the image to the circle
Conformed itself, and how it there finds place;
But my own wings were not enough for this,
Had it not been that then my mind there smote
A flash of lightning, wherein came its wish.
Here vigour failed the lofty fantasy:
But now was turning my desire and will,
Even as a wheel that equally is moved,
The Love which moves the sun and the other stars.
[L’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle]
More importantly the material used was changed to wool and the uniforms became two-piece. According to Blackman -
We moved on to wool gabardine. When you’re doing heroes, when you want the characters to look heroic, there are certain things that you must do to make them seem that way - Broader shoulder, narrow of hip, as vertical as possible, chest out, ready to go after evil. As well as being more comfortable for the actors, changing the uniform to a shirt and pants combo, rather than a jumpsuit, meant that Patrick Stewart’s shirt almost constantly rode up, thus creating the iconic Picard Maneuver. Starfleet Uniforms Part 3: 2350s - 2370s
"It was this spirit of national efficiency in the Circumlocution Office that had gradually led to its having something to do with everything."
The Circumlocution Office was (as everybody knows without being told) the most important Department under Government. No public business of any kind could possibly be done at any time without the acquiescence of the Circumlocution Office. Its finger was in the largest public pie, and in the smallest public tart. It was equally impossible to do the plainest right and to undo the plainest wrong without the express authority of the Circumlocution Office....
This glorious establishment had been early in the field, when the one sublime principle involving the difficult art of governing a country, was first distinctly revealed to statesmen. It had been foremost to study that bright revelation and to carry its shining influence through the whole of the official proceedings. Whatever was required to be done, the Circumlocution Office was beforehand with all the public departments in the art of perceiving--HOW NOT TO DO IT.
Through this delicate perception, through the tact with which it invariably seized it, and through the genius with which it always acted on it, the Circumlocution Office had risen to overtop all the public departments; and the public condition had risen to be--what it was.
It is true that How not to do it was the great study and object of all public departments and professional politicians all round the Circumlocution Office.
It is true that every new premier and every new government, coming in because they had upheld a certain thing as necessary to be done, were no sooner come in than they applied their utmost faculties to discovering How not to do it.
It is true that from the moment when a general election was over, every returned man who had been raving on hustings because it hadn't been done, and who had been asking the friends of the honourable gentleman in the opposite interest on pain of impeachment to tell him why it hadn't been done, and who had been asserting that it must be done, and who had been pledging himself that it should be done, began to devise, How it was not to be done.
It is true that the debates of both House and Senate the whole session through, uniformly tended to the protracted deliberation, How not to do it.
It is true that the [State of the Union] virtually said, Ladies and gentlemen, you have a considerable stroke of work to do, and you will please to retire to your respective chambers, and discuss, How not to do it.
All this is true, but the Circumlocution Office went beyond it.
Because the Circumlocution Office went on mechanically, every day, keeping this wonderful, all-sufficient wheel of statesmanship, How not to do it, in motion.
Because the Circumlocution Office was down upon any ill-advised public servant who was going to do it, or who appeared to be by any surprising accident in remote danger of doing it, with a minute, and a memorandum, and a letter of instructions that extinguished him.
It was this spirit of national efficiency in the Circumlocution Office that had gradually led to its having something to do with everything.
Mechanicians, natural philosophers, soldiers, sailors, petitioners, memorialists, people with grievances, people who wanted to prevent grievances, people who wanted to redress grievances, jobbing people, jobbed people, people who couldn't get rewarded for merit, and people who couldn't get punished for demerit, were all indiscriminately tucked up under the foolscap paper of the Circumlocution Office.
Numbers of people were lost in the Circumlocution Office. Unfortunates with wrongs, or with projects for the general welfare (and they had better have had wrongs at first, than have taken that bitter English recipe for certainly getting them), who in slow lapse of time and agony had passed safely through other public departments; who, according to rule, had been bullied in this, over-reached by that, and evaded by the other; got referred at last to the Circumlocution Office, and never reappeared in the light of day. Boards sat upon them, secretaries minuted upon them, commissioners gabbled about them, clerks registered, entered, checked, and ticked them off, and they melted away. In short, all the business of the country went through the Circumlocution Office, except the business that never came out of it; and its name was Legion.
HT: Liberty's Torch
iPad Art - Morgan Freeman A Finger Painting by Kyle Lambert.
by Hart Crane
Joseph Stella, Brooklyn Bridge
How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest
The seagull's wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, building high
Over the chained bay waters Liberty--
Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes
As apparitional as sails that cross
Some page of figures to be filed away;
--Till elevators drop us from our day . . .
I think of cinemas, panoramic sleights
With multitudes bent toward some flashing scene
Never disclosed, but hastened to again,
Foretold to other eyes on the same screen;
And Thee, across the harbor, silver-paced
As though the sun took step of thee, yet left
Some motion ever unspent in thy stride,--
Implicitly thy freedom staying thee!
Out of some subway scuttle, cell or loft
A bedlamite speeds to thy parapets,
Tilting there momently, shrill shirt ballooning,
A jest falls from the speechless caravan.
Down Wall, from girder into street noon leaks,
A rip-tooth of the sky's acetylene;
All afternoon the cloud-flown derricks turn . . .
Thy cables breathe the North Atlantic still.
And obscure as that heaven of the Jews,
Thy guerdon . . . Accolade thou dost bestow
Of anonymity time cannot raise:
Vibrant reprieve and pardon thou dost show.
O harp and altar, of the fury fused,
(How could mere toil align thy choiring strings!)
Terrific threshold of the prophet's pledge,
Prayer of pariah, and the lover's cry,--
Again the traffic lights that skim thy swift
Unfractioned idiom, immaculate sigh of stars,
Beading thy path--condense eternity:
And we have seen night lifted in thine arms.
Under thy shadow by the piers I waited;
Only in darkness is thy shadow clear.
The City's fiery parcels all undone,
Already snow submerges an iron year . . .
O Sleepless as the river under thee,
Vaulting the sea, the prairies' dreaming sod,
Unto us lowliest sometime sweep, descend
And of the curveship lend a myth to God.
Brett Weston, Brooklyn Bridge -- 1946
The caption at NASA's "Astronomy Picture of the Day" page reads: "Atlantis to Orbit."
The filename of the picture reads: nightlaunch.
And I am moved by the poetry of this most modern of images, not by the triumph of Reason which it seems to enshrine, but by that which is beyond Reason yet within it all the same.
In thinking about this brief essay I could not help but think of a longer one by Doctor Bob at The Doctor Is In about a "civilized" European nation that cannot stop itself from taking the next step down into the pit; its people driven, as "reasonable" people always are, by the inexorable demands of "what is reasonable."
In the work of Goya we see how that great soul, having walked the carnage cloaked landscapes of his era, came to understand the deepest cry of the Enlightenment: El sueño de la razon produce monstruos. ["The sleep of reason breeds monsters."]
Ah well, the bones of the Enlightenment lie buried in a shallow grave somewhere along the Western Front. It had some nice ideals, but left us living rapt in the spell of Reason.
And now we are a "reasonable" society. Now we are a "scientific people" swaddled in a million theories of management -- convinced that all of creation can be, somehow, managed through the limitless employment of Reason. Many of us, as we have seen in the past month, worship "intelligence uber alles," that strange and deadly viral god of the mad mind that kills the soul long before it kills the nations that embrace it. We see the apotheosis of this worship leap up from the dazed lands of Europe. We see it arc across our own skies. We feel the sting of its acid rain on our upturned, stunned faces.
Reason. Its gifts are many. It enables us to raise "Atlantis to Orbit." The poetry of that is only exceeded by the reality of it; by all that lies behind the sheer raw ability of the smart monkey to organize itself to achieve it -- the mathematics and the metallurgy, the pulses in the silicon chips that hold and control the fire that slices up and beyond the sky. And the systems and wires and waves that bring these thoughts from my fingertips to your eyes now.
All these, and whole Alps of others, are the gifts of Reason.
But there are darker gifts of Reason; gifts revealed by the languor with which a whole people fall "half in love with easeful death." Why? Why abort this child? Because it is reasonable. Why kill this old and feeble person? Because it is reasonable. Why take from them according to ability and give to others according to need? Always because it is "reasonable." Reason commands it and Reason has, in this modern era, become a vengeful and a jealous god.
If it is true that the sleep of reason breeds monsters, can it not also be true that the constant wakefulness of Reason breeds its own peculiar hallucinations; its walking horrors?
We depend on Reason when we flip a switch, step on a brake, or seat ourselves in pressurized thin metal tubes that hover 40,000 feet above the earth and move at 500 miles an hour. This power would seem to argue that Reason should be trusted in all things, that the intelligence that runs up and down the synapses of our brains in an endless flickering web of electo-chemical space-time events is the ultimate arbiter, the final judge, the self-obsessed lodestone of our lives. And yet... and yet...
And yet, hovering outside of Reason, we still somehow sense there is something more going on here, something vaster unfolding all about us, no matter how sternly Reason rules. We sense, no matter how many times we are told the opposite, that myth, legend, soul, magic, miracle and mystery still hold us, and that
The palm at the end of the mind,
Beyond the last thought, rises
In the bronze decor,
The palm stands on the edge of space.
The wind moves slowly in the branches.
The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.*
And that, as we now move more deeply into Advent, we move -- in our long sweeping orbit about our home star -- closer to the moments when that which is most deeply our gift and most certainly our curse is made manifest in the music of our being in a manner beyond all reason. And no matter what our faith -- even if that faith is that there is no faith to be had -- this turn of the year, this Advent, will inexorably bring us once again to the memory of the miracle.
Our Here. Our Now. Our miracle. Impossible but actual. On this unlikely melding of earth, air, fire and water, fused far ago from starstuff and now circling a single sun swimming in some out-of-the-way arm of a second-class galaxy, where we lift Atlantis into orbit; where we seek to populate the far stars in our searching.
On the one hand, it is clear that Reason demands that "We shall not cease from exploration," while on the other it may well be that:
"... the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."
And while nothing in our Book of Reason can tell us why, its endless banal chapters on irony would need to be excised were we to discover that all "Enlightenment," all our "Age of Reason" has wrought is but a frail and flimsy ladder to the stars where we could at last put out our feeble hands "to touch the face of God."
by pointing out the deteriorating conditions for blacks in South Africa since the ANC has come to power, with skyrocketing levels of murder, rape and AIDS. (It goes without saying that pointing out the deteriorating conditions for whites is not going win any sympathy from liberal whites.) This is of course all true, but it misses the point. No one is listening. The man Mandela matters little. The reality of South Africa matters little. White progressives want the fantasy.
by 29-year-old Amedeo Obici, an immigrant who had left his hometown of Oderzo, 40 miles northeast of Venice, when he was just 11 years old to join his uncle in Scranton, Pennsylvania. He worked at a cigar factory making 80 cents a week while he learned English going to night school. A year later he moved to Wilkes-Barre where he worked at a fruit stand that also sold roasted peanuts.The History Blog
I knew I had to remove the tick with great care.
If any part of it was left behind, I might end up with a very nasty infection. I also needed to avoid killing the creature as I removed it, in case I caused it to release potentially disease-ridden saliva into my bloodstream. I had all the tools I needed right there in the lab. Despite having to work at a contorted angle, I was able to use a pair of forceps to grasp the tick's mouth parts, which were buried deep in my flesh.... [Youmight want to think twice before clicking this link to] The Guardian
Bureaucracy doesn’t bring out the best in human behavior, it brings out the worst. It causes lack of foresight. It causes lashing out, rushed exuberance and eagerness to assign blame, it elevates process over outcome, and it tends to elevate persons of low character over their colleagues with better character. The crisis that follows tends to do the opposite of all these things. But it’s a mistake to place faith in bureaucracy just by default, and then hope it’ll all work out. Real people get hurt. House of Eratosthenes
What's up with their "move along folks, nothing to see here"? Easy.
The aging game of paying the feral to mimic normal life isn't working. The younger perps have discovered they're entitled to money-fo-nuthin either way. Now they're playing their own games. The left is too entranced by their received truth to notice they're being bitten by their own dog. A few understand even a little wakefulness would unzip the whole farcical contraption. There'd be no do-over. So they trot out the "truthiness" routine, a sort of rhetorical duct tape, what we used to call "everybody knows" as kids. Pathetic, but it's all they have. ol remus and the woodpile report
It means the bias of our mainstream media is mind-bendingly colossal.
It also means we are paying these media folks, in a voluntary market-based situation, to retail lies to us. We hear lie after lie, and still we listen, as if the next report won’t be a lie, or at least as if it won’t be a biased interpretation of an event we would characterize differently, if we were doing the reporting. Stalin would have marveled at the beauty of it; he had to beat people to a pulp and execute them in mass to get the survivors to do out of terror what we have come to do reflexively, out of habit. Mordor falling? | Theoptimisticconservative's Blog
So what we have is a Lysenkoist website that promises to transform my weak bourgeois private-sector health insurance into sturdy winter collectivist health insurance through the magic of Marxist/Leninist agronomy.
"Someone asked "how could we make benghazi better?" My first thought: fewer Libyans."
Somali Muslim Who Raped Dead Swedish Woman Won’t Be Deported
Hillary Clinton Partied While Benghazi Mission Begged for Helpand....
Student Paper Editor Claims Mustaches are Racist - “How are people who do not have a prostate supposed to partake in this cause?”
They were civilization's phantom of the opera, prompting approving grins on boys and men, and thousands of country tunes with home spun lyrics of travel and tragedy, preferably by dark of night. Towns reproved them not merely because steam was intrusive and loud, which it most satisfyingly was, but because steam was a fire-and-brimstone colossus that, alarmingly, moved of its own accord, a perpetually impending but useful disaster, a Frankenstein's monster, unnatural life beyond appeal or persuasion, a necessary neighbor that crushed hapless haywains caught out at crossings.ol remus and the woodpile report
He can't sing, or dance, or create a government bureaucracy that functions any more efficiently than a Soviet supermarket. He broke the lifelong rule that had served him so well — "Don't just do something. Stand there" — and for the first time in his life did something, terribly. It will bear his name forever. Those Who Can't, Govern :: SteynOnline
Don’t roughhouse because you might get a bruise. Don’t go outside at high noon because you might get skin cancer. Don’t swim after eating because you might get a cramp. If a child draws a soldier, call a SWAT team because he is a murderous psychopath. Don’t ride a bicycle without a helmet. Fill in the deep end of the pool because someone might drown. Supervise everything. Control everything. Fear everything. If these are not the neurotic fears of women and capons, please tell me what they are. Such run the schools. They make policy. No Child Allowed Ahead - Fred Reed
Our destination: Savannah, and more specifically Mrs Wilkes's Dining Room. The restaurant is strictly first-come, first-served, and so, even at 10am, we hastily parked the car and raced through the town's impossibly pretty streets, mottled sunlight illuminating their 19th-century mansions. A huge queue of mostly blue-rinsed women lined the front of Mrs Wilkes's and wound past a line of antique shops around the corner. Two hours later we were put on a table of ten with those closest to us in the queue, most of whom seemed to be called Betty. We were presented with what could be the best home cooking I'll ever have. This is Soul Food: fried chicken, meat stew, barbecued brisket, collard greens, mash, mac and cheese, rutabaga, pickled beets, butterbeans, red rice and candied yams. And those are just the things I can remember. The vegetables were outstanding, and the brisket deep and treacly, its layers of fat bursting with flavour. It was all washed down with sweet tea and finished with banana puddin -- no "g" -- and blackberry cobbler. Stupefied, we thought it best to take a stroll before getting back in the car. True Grits | Standpoint
After college, he set off on his sailboat for a journey to be forever known as "Noah's Ark in reverse" where he endeavored to eat one of every animal. His only regret in life is that he was not able to complete this task.... He found he yearned for a more settled down life and filled his days with friends, cats, drinks, motorcycle rides, wine yelling at dinosaurs and inappropriate comments. - See more at: John Judy Obituary @ The Oregonian
On some great and glorious day, the plain folks of the land will reach their heart’s desire at last and the White House will be occupied by a downright fool and complete narcissistic moron.” — H.L. Mencken, The Baltimore Evening Sun, 26 July 1920. Via Sipsey Street Irregulars
What does Hillary stand for? After eight years in the senate, the only memorable thing about her tenure was her vote on Iraq. If Hillary had not accidentally taken a controversial position, while trying to cast a safe vote, all that anyone would remember is that she was inducted into the National Women’s Hall of Fame for “opening new pathways for women in leadership”. That was quite an accomplishment considering that she was the 32nd female senator. | FrontPage Magazine
When they thought that they were receiving an education, they were being softened up; they had no defense against the siren song of demagogues who only want their votes. They voted for hope and change and they got despair and regression. They see the Obamafied future and they don’t see anything good coming to them. Had Enough Therapy?: A Great Awakening?
“His instantaneous excitement for Botox was startling,” a former staff member quipped. “He was like Michael Moore discovering head cheese.” A former housekeeper claims John Kerry began hiding bottles of Botox in the nooks and crannies of his five multimillion-dollar estates. “Senator John would wander around his houses in the middle of the night injecting Botox into his face. He kept bottles hidden so Senator Lady would not find out. One night he became enraged when he couldn’t remember where he’d hidden his stash. He threw dishes and food against the walls until Mrs. Senator came down and threatened to withhold his weekly allowance.” -- TheDaily Rash
They seemed just the right thing for today’s lunch on this mild, mysterious foggy day. So it’s poached turnips, carrots, and parsnips, along with fennel bulb, a few slices of corned beef, and lots of Irish butter. Be good to yourself. The Canal House
the dolphins continuing to force the prow to the left, and presently they just missed some further rocks — again on the right. “I was getting a strange feeling that we ought to leave our destiny to the dolphins,” Stander said, “since it was clear they had twice prevented us from running on to the rocks.” – Futility Closet
there exists in some people an insatiable desire to tell other people what to do; to bend others to their will. I suspect that every single one of those hearts is filled with a dread, a genuine horror, at the wasteland of their own emptiness, and so the bombast and the narcissism and the arrogance; the legions of fainting faithful and the roar of the applause; the reflections, the logos, the insertion of themselves into every event in history; the mind-numbing obsession with power – all of these, I think, are just shovels full of coal being pitched into the bottomless furnace of their own self-hatred. From Shards | Bill Whittle
a man who, after his drug-addled youth hung out with domestic terrorists, academic (and activist) anti-Semites, and got his religious counsel from a man steeped in hatred of Whites and Jews, as head of the free world — while simultaneously turning down her nose at figures like Sarah Palin, who has proven over the course of time to be every bit as prescient as Ms Noonan was bamboozed, hoodwinked, and gloriously conned — is now writing to tell us the President is not who he promised he’d be. - - Per Jim Geraghty… | protein wisdom
Everything that could move, had moved away; but some human beings had remained. The empty structures were vertical rubble; they had been eaten, not by time, but by men: boards torn out at random, missing patches of roofs, holes left in gutted cellars. It looked as if blind hands had seized whatever fitted the need of the moment, with no concept of remaining in existence the next morning. The inhabited houses were scattered at random among the ruins; the smoke of their chimneys was the only movement visible in town. A shell of concrete, which had been a schoolhouse, stood on the outskirts; it looked like a skull, with the empty sockets of glassless windows, with a few strands of hair still clinging to it, in the shape of broken wires." - - Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged, 1957