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Archive for May, 2008 Page 2 of 3



JRT propaganda

YES, THEY CAN BE TERRIBLE, horrible, no-good, very bad, filthy, rotten little curs. But they’re usually entertaining through it all.

Exhibit A: JRT surfing waves

Exhibit 2: JRT surfing carpet

[Thanks, MMR]

Talking = tough

FINALLY, thanks to Obama and an increasingly message-savvy Democratic party, the correct approach to dealing with distasteful regimes now has the right rhetorical framework, which can be boiled down to this phrase: “strength is diplomacy.”

Moreover, those who don’t talk to people they don’t like are …

  • Politically weak (afraid of a photo opp with a bad guy)
  • Shameless (pandering to Cuban-Americans in order to win Florida, for example)
  • Ineffective (not talking has gotten us nowhere)

Those who do talk to people they don’t like (keeping in mind that merely talking is not appeasement) are …

  • Traditional (continuing the long American tradition of talking with the enemy)
  • Strong (as in not hiding in Washington behind blustery statements)
  • Diplomats (no further explanation needed)

Thank you, Chris

Note to partisan hacks: If you’re going to tar someone by calling him/her an appeaser, take the time to learn what appeasement actually means—preferably before going on TV.

[Hat tip: Con Queso]

Puck in a bag

At 13, Puck needs occasional breaks during walks. Moke's old external frame backpack is perfect for giving him a lift—and he loves it.

AT 13, Puck needs occasional breaks during walks. Moke’s old external frame backpack is perfect for giving him a lift.

Two strangely compelling videos

How to Move a 100-Year-Old Church

The Day There Was No News

Scatological poetry

LAST WEEKEND I accidentally dropped a pair of gloves in Moke’s driveway, in Steamboat. (I think they fell off the car as we left to return to Denver.) Later Moke found them decorated with – well, you can guess by the title of this post. Inspired, he sent me this poem:

Two black dots
upon my road
Looks like someone
dropped his load
Might be poop
or Jeb’s black gloves
Or tractor goop
or mourning doves
Oh my god
it’s worse than I thought
A coyote dog
left a great big glop
Right in the center
of one wide palm
For our dear Jeb
a rear end alm.

Thanks for the poem, Moke. (And for washing the gloves.)

It’s a movie, OK?

I GET SLIGHTLY NAUSEATED when someone calls a movie a “film.” I get downright queasy when some calls a movie a “picture.”

There, I said it.

[Late addition: If someone within earshot speaks of a passion for "the cinema," I will most likely vomit.]