Posted on July 23, 2004 in Roundup
…no testimony is sufficient to establish a miracle, unless the testimony be of such a kind, that its falsehood would be more miraculous than the fact which it endeavors to establish.
— David Hume
As if we all needed a breather, most bloggers skipped politics this week to focus on the silly and the trivial — the silly and the trivial which does no damage to the world as compared with silly statements made to the effect that we went into Iraq because Saddam had weapons of mass destruction and that Bush is an honest man.
This roundup covers the period from 19 July to 22 July 2004.
We do not, in short, have a situation in which Congress has no power to legislate on the matter of captured soldiers, or on the behavior of the land and naval forces towards them. And because torture is an offense against the law of nations (as recognized by several international agreements to which the United States is a signatory), it also has power to define and punish torture.
the problem is that homophobic, misogynist crap can’t pass without comment any more than racist remarks can, without consequences. Oppressed people must stand up and defend themselves every time they’re knocked down. A better response to Arnold would be calling him on both sides of his garbage: We expect our leaders to be grownups, not bullying little boys, or children who blame everybody else for their own failures.
In my quick tour of the biographies of the male Democratic California legislators, I also found a farmer, a former Jesuit priest who worked with the poor, a man who spent time working with the International Red Cross to help refugees, and a couple parole officers.
There must be something in the food or water that is rendering a good number of Amerikan citizens utterly and inescapably stupid. Were people always this stupid, or am I only noticing now because I am old enough to care?
We’ve been marinating in the Internet for more than a decade, and the music industry still doesn’t know what its business model is. And not for lack of suggestion, either.
Someone explain to me where this idea came from that no one prior to their 18th birthday shouldn’t have any sexual feelings, at all, ever, for any reason, and most definitely never express them, in any manner, shape or form, until such time as they marry someone of the opposite gender some ten to twenty years after the onset of puberty?
When I think about race now I know that sometimes being in the minority sucks, and that it is sometimes very empowering. I cede that many of our policies regarding race, while still needed, do provide cannon fodder to the vocal groups who believe that race-based initiatives are condescending (or so they say). And finally, I think that it isn’t up to me to define the nature of another person’s existence.
it never ceases to be funny to me how many people think that I must be familiar with The Sound of Music, since I’m German.
Yes, all you homeless people with laptops and modems, now you have your own website . . .
What is a human soul? Why do we have one? Why is it in need of salvation? Is salvation itself something more than a divine rescue operation? And how does spirit fit in with all of this? The christian subculture, at its popular Sunday best, provided little in the way of answers.
As the thunder rumbled and crashed overhead, I asked, “What makes thunder?”
The minister responded. “That is God working with his lumber. He is building more houses for newcomers.”
Not exactly a comforting thought in my twisted mind. I remember thinking as I listened to the rumble of lumber, one board against another, “I hope that one of those new homes that are so rapidly being constructed, is not for me. I much prefer living here.”
It started like all photo shoots, with the selection of the appropriate wardrobe. The MRI technician presented me with faded blue baggy pants, a standard issue paisley hospital gown (with the prerequisite opening in the back), and, for the accessory that no gal should be without – especially as she slithers through a tube that serves as the dancing floor for a rave for some very energetic magnets – a pair of persimmon-colored earplugs.
the beagle is substantially similar to a black hole….If you leave … say … chicken parmesan in the styrofoam container from Olive Garden on the kitchen counter and turn your back to fill the beagle’s dish with water, the beagle grabs the container off the counter and eats the leftovers.
I decided against putting anything in storage. Instead, I tossed out whatever couldn’t be placed. I am now, officially, a minimalist. I’m not sure exactly what that is, but it sounds kinda kicky. And it sounds pompous as fuck, which appeals to me at this time in my life.
I suppose I should admit that my engagement ring was purchased with the proceeds of the sale of a painting I would not allow out of the back of the closet.
Today was one of those days where whatever I touched went magically well. I suddenly worked out how to build a simple SQL query in access, after a flash of brilliance on the way home last night, I wrote the entire progression rules for the part time Bachelor programmes this morning and this afternoon I worked out how to change the standard letter K has been working on for the past couple of weeks
Paul DeLeo, a 60 year old man I have taken karate with two or more times a week for the past four years died suddenly during karate class on Monday night. Because I was just back from vacation and exhausted I had opted out of going. My karate buddy here at work, Mike, taught the class. He said they had just finished warm ups and were on the floor stretching when Paul began to make funny noises. And from there it turned into a nightmare.
It began last weekend with a middle-aged, mildly psychotic woman walking five miles to the seedy side of Cape Town, spending an afternoon in a shebeen (informal tavern) frequented by West African refugees and drug dealers, being saved from being hit on before being served dinner in a run-down tenement by three brothers (an artist, the artist’s apprentice and the guy that did the cooking) and, sans money, walking back home at midnight through Cape Town’s lawless streets, where armed hijackers lie in wait in every driveway.
actually it’s not a bad thing, contentment. it should be great to write about it too and the sooner i do it, the better for me. it may not stay around here long enough for me to remember how it feels …
When I jumped up, I stomped on The Princess’ foot. She kicked out, bopped a TV table that had a red, raspberry candle in a small votive jar on it. Of course, the votive jar up-ended and landed in a quickly-spreading pool of blood-red wax. Right on our fawn-colored carpet. Fuck me.
I have managed to put everything into place by being silent about it.
–Ludwig Wittgenstein