Wednesday, November 24, 2010

What is wrong with this article? Take a gander:

Publicity or no, some predicted little fallout from the planned protest, with many travelers at airports Tuesday deriding the effort and saying the stepped-up security measures made them feel safer.

At New York's LaGuardia Airport, traveler Ted Shaffrey, cited the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks as justification for more invasive screening.

"Tell all the people whining about getting patted down to remember 9/11," he said. "They're all whine-bags."

Marc Gruber, eating lunch at the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International airport, agreed.

"I think there ought to be two flights," said the 53-year-old from Jacksonville, Fla., "one for people who want to be scanned and one for people who don't want to be scanned."

___

AP writers Ted Shaffrey in New York; Cara Rubinsky and Kate Brumback in Atlanta; Jay Reeves in Birmingham, Alabama; and Tony Winton in Miami contributed to this report.

<<<>>>

That's right, folks. The insulting quote from a 'traveler' is in fact a quote from one of the writers credited for the article.

EDIT: By the time I posted my comment on the article his name had been yanked from the article credits. Looks like the Ministry of Truth was alerted to some truth that needed fixin'.

EDIT the 2ND: They also removed his quote from the article. Too late, AP, I have a screen shot.





(screen shot trimmed to remove excess browser detail)

Monday, November 22, 2010


Other people have an inner child. I have an inner angry senior citizen that looks like the guy pictured in the ad above. (On a not-unrelated note: ads from previous eras are a goldmine of hilarity.)

There's a forum one of my sisters convinced me to join. On the whole, this forum maintains a level of civility most places on the internet could only dream of.

Recently, one of the young women decided to take a ride on the Crazy Train, convinced that a general discussion involving an opinion contrary to her own opinion on a matter was, in fact, a personal attack that required action on her part. Enter angry verbal flailing.

Other women with more sense very gently and tactfully pointed out the errors in her logic and suggested she be more careful of how she handled her part in the discussion. They received responses that were the equivalent of fingers-in-the-ears while saying 'la la la I can't hear you!'

So, I stepped in, minus the tact. I told her, bluntly, that she was the one that had made the discussion personal, not the person she was accusing and being insulting toward. I gave a colorful analogy of her actions thus far. When she responded with more angry verbal flailing, I mocked her. There was a brief verbal spar which I felt rather ashamed to have indulged in with someone ten years my junior.

The result? She sent me an email acknowledging sometimes she takes things too seriously and thanking me for breaking the tension by giving her something to laugh about.

That made me feel like I'd taken her place on the Crazy Train. People aren't supposed to thank me for mocking them...

Saturday, November 13, 2010



He committed the murder.

I disposed of the body. He felt it was only fair.

We were both reluctant to take that step. We felt just a little bit of regret.

But it was necessary. Something had to be done.

What a creep she was. Those staring eyes and twitchy mouth, her fat, bulbous body atop scrawny legs.

She had never been invited but showed up anyway, and then she wouldn't leave.

You never wanted to turn your back on her, afraid you'd turn around and find her moving in your direction with that cold, blank stare.

She would sit in that corner for hours, so still, as though she might never move again.

We knew she was capable of violence. She was here for no other purpose than to kill.

True, she wasn't here to kill us. I didn't even like her intended victims.

But oh the revulsion we felt, staring at that door and knowing that when we walked through, she'd be somewhere on the other side.

If she had just picked another corner, maybe things could have ended peacefully. Why did it have to be a corner in our only bathroom?




The murder victim




Not the murder victim, but this is a good picture to show what size it was! Imagine that skittering over to join you in the shower. She had to go, I'm telling ya!






It disturbs me that I can put 'scenic wonders' in the google image search engine and get a picture of a naked man hiking.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

I've generally tended more towards pessimism and melancholy than towards optimism and happiness. Whenever things seemed like they were going well, they would seem like they were going too well, and I would start to wonder when the piano was going to fall on me. The last month or so I've noticed what seems to be the start of a transformation in attitude - I'm living a life of peace and bounty and learning to be grateful for it without getting lost in the fear of when it will all be taken away from me. This might be Egypt's seven fat years, waiting to be devoured by seven scrawny years, but the expectation of trouble to come seems like more of a reason to appreciate what I have here, now.

My life might not seem overflowing with bounty to the typical Western observer. Our two vehicles are thirteen years old. Our house is an ugly cement block house from the 70's, located in a neighborhood of shabby gentility. Several unfinished do-it-yourself projects are currently messifying the interior. It was purchased one year before the real estate bubble burst and has probably depreciated in value by at least 40k. We don't have the latest in technological gadgets. I do most of my clothes shopping in thrift stores and my grocery shopping at the Super Wal*Mart five minutes up the road.

I know my life is overflowing with blessings. Over six years ago, my husband and I were facing two of the hardest things fledgling marriages can experience: bad finances and a new child. Our elderly vehicle had gone kapoot. We were living off his unemployment checks and food stamps. My husband spent most of his free time immersed in Evercrack, sleeping until the afternoon and making excuses about why he had missed another day of job hunting, excuses not really for my benefit but for his own. I spent my time adjusting to the demands of my new son, loving him more than I had ever thought could be possible, while high levels of stress kept a mixture of exhaustion, anger and resentment simmering just below the surface, always threatening to bubble up and engulf us. To top it all off, my husband had brought credit card debt into the marriage - it was not a huge amount, but to people with nothing, even minor debts become huge.

My son would refuse to sleep until six or seven in the morning, though he would be relatively content if I held him, so we would sit together in front of my computer in the wee hours of the morning, where I found Worldnetdaily, Vox Popoli, Ladies Against Feminism and a host of Christian bloggers, all of which helped me maintain my sanity and caused an awakening of sorts. I started to realize how selfish and pleasure-seeking my life was. It was not who God wanted me to be and it was not who I wanted to be. I realized that if I wanted to make a conservative marriage work that I would have to stop thinking like an egalitarian. I prayed, over and over, for God to help me honor my husband and treat him with respect, though I felt no respect for him.

We trudged forward, side by side and feeling very far apart, though we were closer in spirit than we realized, for God was slowly transforming him, as well. A friend's father offered my husband a temporary job with his surveying company. My husband began biking six miles round-trip, working often in the hot Florida sun and other times up to his hips in murky, snake and bug-infested swamps. It was a start. Later he found steady employment with a good salary and health insurance. He's had his job five years now and while he's grown to hate it, he keeps showing up for love of me and our children. While working full time he obtained his four-year degree, debt free thanks to tuition reimbursement.

I can look back over the last few years and see now that he loved me all along - not with kisses and trinkets and three words but with patience, forbearance, sacrifice and tenacity. He's not a Greek letter, or a Greek letter pretending to be other Greek letters. He's just an imperfect man that believes in God and struggles to maintain integrity in a world of sloth, apathy and corruption.

So here I am now, and it seems such an incredibly short time for such a transformation to have been worked in our lives. I have a husband I can actually feel respect for and three beautiful children who light up my life. I have a house and two cars. We're living within our means and our mortgage and bills are paid every month without having to use the whole paycheck. We eat our fill of food much of the world would salivate over. We have electricity and running water, two of the best inventions ever. I'm here, at home, with my children. I'm home-schooling, at least for this year, and grinning widely over the fact that my son is learning to read and that I am his teacher. Overflowing with blessings.

I've done nothing to deserve all this material comfort. But I am thankful for it and I will endeavor to be truly grateful for as long as it lasts.

Tuesday, November 09, 2010

Dang it!

Why do you people have to link to web comics? They're like potato chips, you can't stop with just one...

Sunday, November 07, 2010

A very readable, concise post from Code Monkey Ramblings on why America is screwed.

(Mike, if you read this, I couldn't comment on your post because I got an error when trying to comment from my google account.)

Monday, November 01, 2010

"Mommy, this eyeball tastes delicious!"

Heard out of context, that sentence might raise an eyebrow or two, but it was just my six year old eating a selection from the Halloween candy he collected last night.

I find myself in an odd position. I was raised in a family that did not celebrate Halloween because my mother strongly disapproved of its pagan origins and focus on death and spirits. She still feels that way.

Now, I'm married to a man whose favorite holiday is Halloween. Though he's been scheduled to work for the past few years, his parents have always requested the children that night so they can take them trick-or-treating. It's a good thing I never shared my mom's strong feelings about the holiday. My husband would (understandably) take it personally were I to make a fuss and try to convince him to stop celebrating the holiday.