When I first read about the aftermath of that hockey game in Vancouver, I was floored. I mean, what does it take to be considered a riot in Canada? Bumping into someone and failing to say "Excuse me?"
I have to confess, I love Vancouver. Back in 1983 when I was 15, my dad was one of the engineers on the project that would eventually become the Skytrain. I went up there to spend a week with him at his hotel in the suburb of Richmond. Since he had to work during the day, he handed me a wad of bills and a bus schedule and said "Here, go explore." I did, as far as my 15-year-old imagination could take me. I've never quite gotten over the city since. I've always thought Vancouver was what San Francisco would have been if it was cleaner and had better weather.
So as I say, the riots surprised me. What sounds completely in character for Vancouver is the response from the ordinary, non-rioting citizens. As soon as it was safe, they came out to the streets and started cleaning up. How many cities does that happen in?
Read this. And then this. Heroism wears a uniform, or a nurse's scrubs. Common decency carries a broom.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
What would St. Thomas More do?
So the judge in the Proposition 8 case has been called out on his bias (not that anyone ever thought he was ruling impartially), and a law firm contracted to defend DOMA has been bullied into backing out. This scene is very timely indeed.
I'd say the same thing about a ruling I agreed with. Rigging a trial or intimidating lawyers to ensure that the "good guys" win sets a dangerous precedent. More can be proud of Paul Clement, if of nobody else in this whole business.
I'd say the same thing about a ruling I agreed with. Rigging a trial or intimidating lawyers to ensure that the "good guys" win sets a dangerous precedent. More can be proud of Paul Clement, if of nobody else in this whole business.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
To whoever designed the computer system on which we create The Greatest Newspaper in the Northwest™
Sir, I dislike you. Indeed, I hold you in the sort of esteem usually reserved for cockroaches and asparagus. I am in no doubt that your sexual habits are of an unsavory nature and your personal hygiene leaves much to be desired. And it is my fondest hope that one day you will be trapped aboard a boat sinking within sight of the shore, and your mother will be unable to summon help as she runs barking up and down the beach with her ears flapping in the wind.
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
Friday, March 04, 2011
Dear baby boomers...
Now that record numbers of you are heading off into your retirement, it seems like a good time to note that record numbers of you also failed to prepare for the future. This means that each of us will have to shoulder a much larger share of supporting your aging heinies.
See, your generation wanted to have fun and stay young, and those pesky, messy, resource-consuming children didn't fit your lifestyle. We were responsibility, and you just had to have your freedom. So you contracepted like crazy, and aborted the few of us that sprouted in spite of you, to save space in your lives for your Beemers and your cocaine and your ski trips to Colorado.
You tried to pass those values on to my generation as well, but fortunately, some of us didn't listen to your "things are better than people" gospel. So now our children who are just entering the job market already have to support their grandparents before they can even think of supporting families of their own.
You're welcome.
Pregnancy, childbirth, babies, toddlers, teenagers -- they introduce uncontrollable variables into life. Having children is messy and risky, opening the door to kinds of suffering to which non-parents will be forever immune. The choice of sterility is infinitely neater and safer. Like a clean layer of asphalt instead of a garden, it makes no demands; but it doesn't give much back, either.
See, your generation wanted to have fun and stay young, and those pesky, messy, resource-consuming children didn't fit your lifestyle. We were responsibility, and you just had to have your freedom. So you contracepted like crazy, and aborted the few of us that sprouted in spite of you, to save space in your lives for your Beemers and your cocaine and your ski trips to Colorado.
You tried to pass those values on to my generation as well, but fortunately, some of us didn't listen to your "things are better than people" gospel. So now our children who are just entering the job market already have to support their grandparents before they can even think of supporting families of their own.
You're welcome.
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Surprise, surprise!
Pointing out the similarities between politics and whorehouses just seems so superfluous.
Death for death? Not likely
I have to wonder if this is part of a plan to avoid getting a conviction. Yes, I said "avoid." If the DA overreaches and Gosnell is acquitted, then he still looks good in the papers without actually having to hold an abortionist accountable.
Seth Williams is a Democrat, bought and paid for with NARAL dollars. The last thing his masters want is anything suggesting a connection between "choice" and cold-blooded murder.
Seth Williams is a Democrat, bought and paid for with NARAL dollars. The last thing his masters want is anything suggesting a connection between "choice" and cold-blooded murder.
Invade Libya? Are you nuts?
No, just stupid. Try to leave aside the irony of John Kerry calling for foreign involvement, and focus on the sheer imbecility:
Here's an idea: How about we just mind our own frimpin' business? Interfering in other people's civil wars is an invitation to lose no matter who wins.
Senator John Kerry, D-Massachusetts, called for the United States to impose a no-fly zone over Libya. While he noted that the Libyan people weren't asking for foreign troops, he said they "do need the tools to prevent the slaughter of innocents on Libyan streets."
...
"I believe the global community cannot be on the sidelines while airplanes are allowed to bomb and strafe," said Kerry, who chairs the Senate committee. "A no-fly zone is not a long-term proposition, assuming the outcome is what all desire, and I believe that we ought to be ready to implement it as necessary."
Here's an idea: How about we just mind our own frimpin' business? Interfering in other people's civil wars is an invitation to lose no matter who wins.
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
Heaven is more happily hootered today
Actress Jane Russell, she of the glorious gazoombas, travels in elephants.
Not only was she lovely to the eye, but it turns out she was also a strong Christian believer and pro-life in word and deed. A class act on screen and off.
Here's the film that propelled her (and her accessories) to stardom, The Outlaw:
Not only was she lovely to the eye, but it turns out she was also a strong Christian believer and pro-life in word and deed. A class act on screen and off.
Here's the film that propelled her (and her accessories) to stardom, The Outlaw:
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Coming out of the closet
No, not like that.
For the last few years I've been a reader of cop blogs. They often post infrequently, and a lot of times they disappear without warning as their superiors figure out who they are, but while they're there, they're an invaluable window into the world that most of us never have to deal with directly.
We hear griping and dark conspiracy talk about cops a lot, but when we need them, they always show up anyway. These people take not just physical danger, but an enormous amount of verbal crap, on our behalf.
Most of their readers are other cops. I'm well aware that I'm an outsider in their sphere. That's why I don't often say anything about reading their stuff. But these guys (and the occasional lady) need to know that we appreciate them.
You'll find a few of my favorites in the sidebar under "Read With Your Hat Off." Mine sure is.
(Six Year Med obviously isn't a cop, but she's well worth reading with the same reverence. She's a hospital pediatrician who has to deal with the sort of emotional trauma that would leave me a hopeless drunk inside a week if I had to do her job. She makes me humble.)
For the last few years I've been a reader of cop blogs. They often post infrequently, and a lot of times they disappear without warning as their superiors figure out who they are, but while they're there, they're an invaluable window into the world that most of us never have to deal with directly.
We hear griping and dark conspiracy talk about cops a lot, but when we need them, they always show up anyway. These people take not just physical danger, but an enormous amount of verbal crap, on our behalf.
Most of their readers are other cops. I'm well aware that I'm an outsider in their sphere. That's why I don't often say anything about reading their stuff. But these guys (and the occasional lady) need to know that we appreciate them.
You'll find a few of my favorites in the sidebar under "Read With Your Hat Off." Mine sure is.
(Six Year Med obviously isn't a cop, but she's well worth reading with the same reverence. She's a hospital pediatrician who has to deal with the sort of emotional trauma that would leave me a hopeless drunk inside a week if I had to do her job. She makes me humble.)
Monday, November 29, 2010
The season 'tis, my lovely lambs
That's right! It's time for Cheesy Christmas Movies!
Every so often, as the fit takes me, I'll post a movie that makes Christmas feel by turns tawdry, silly, maudlin or just plumb sentimental. There'll even be a couple of awesome flicks tossed in. Most of them come from the Internet Archive's stash of public domain film. (Some of them, the public probably should have turned down.)
The first offering comes under "sentimental." I posted it once before, but I'll re-up the commentary for the benefit of new readers:
Beyond Tomorrow is the sort of movie you simply don't see anymore. Three elderly bachelors who both live and do business together set up a little test to see what kind of people are walking outside their window. They each toss a wallet with ten dollars and a business card inside, and wait to see who returns the money. Naturally, it's a man and a woman, both single and lonely, and both at loose ends for the holiday. The bachelors invite them to Christmas dinner, and the result is what you'd expect, either in 1940 or today.
It all takes a different turn when (a) the three men are killed in a plane crash and (b) the young man finds himself being led astray by a woman of easy virtue. From here on out, it's chock-full of the sort of thing that Hollywood would roll its collective eyes at today, even for a hokey Christmas flick.
For starters, the theology is a bit clear-cut for a modern film, even though for people who take their religion seriously it's kind of facile. The afterlife is presented without self-consciousness or wisecracks. Good is good, and evil is evil, and there is forgiveness for the repentant. It's a morality tale, pure and simple. If you don't like moral absolutes, you won't get this one.
Besides that, the acting is really good for such a low-budgeter, and there's a nifty little background/subplot thing with two Russian servants, refugees with Romanov connections. Maria Ouspenskaya is the sort of treasure that belonged in a museum; to see her in this B-flick is like seeing Olivier in a soap commercial. So get the hankies out and skip the cliche repellant:
Update three years later: I always knew Jean Parker was wonderful, and this film just reaffirms it. I'm also very struck by the treatment of George's afterlife. Allan is met by his family and taken to heaven, and Michael remains Topper-like to help his friends. But George... George takes a route seldom seen in movies.
It's clear that he has some dark sin in his past, though we're never told what it is. When he steps off into his dark, ominous destination, it's very foreboding. But foreboding of what, exactly? Is that Hell he's going to? Is it Purgatory? That he goes without a fight suggests the latter, but there's no actual identification made of itand the rest of the film implies kind of a generic pseudo-Protestant heaven-and-hell-and-nothing-else. Still, he emerges after repenting and is admitted to Heaven. Very intriguing. (On re-watching the ending, no. It's very Catholic in its treatment of the afterlife. Not only does George describe Purgatory to a T, but Michael is also interceded for by his mother, which is a completely Catholic take on the Communion of Saints. I looked up both the writers, and they appear to have been solidly Catholic. It makes sense.)
So what did you think? Leave your thoughts in the comments.
Every so often, as the fit takes me, I'll post a movie that makes Christmas feel by turns tawdry, silly, maudlin or just plumb sentimental. There'll even be a couple of awesome flicks tossed in. Most of them come from the Internet Archive's stash of public domain film. (Some of them, the public probably should have turned down.)
The first offering comes under "sentimental." I posted it once before, but I'll re-up the commentary for the benefit of new readers:
Beyond Tomorrow is the sort of movie you simply don't see anymore. Three elderly bachelors who both live and do business together set up a little test to see what kind of people are walking outside their window. They each toss a wallet with ten dollars and a business card inside, and wait to see who returns the money. Naturally, it's a man and a woman, both single and lonely, and both at loose ends for the holiday. The bachelors invite them to Christmas dinner, and the result is what you'd expect, either in 1940 or today.
It all takes a different turn when (a) the three men are killed in a plane crash and (b) the young man finds himself being led astray by a woman of easy virtue. From here on out, it's chock-full of the sort of thing that Hollywood would roll its collective eyes at today, even for a hokey Christmas flick.
For starters, the theology is a bit clear-cut for a modern film, even though for people who take their religion seriously it's kind of facile. The afterlife is presented without self-consciousness or wisecracks. Good is good, and evil is evil, and there is forgiveness for the repentant. It's a morality tale, pure and simple. If you don't like moral absolutes, you won't get this one.
Besides that, the acting is really good for such a low-budgeter, and there's a nifty little background/subplot thing with two Russian servants, refugees with Romanov connections. Maria Ouspenskaya is the sort of treasure that belonged in a museum; to see her in this B-flick is like seeing Olivier in a soap commercial. So get the hankies out and skip the cliche repellant:
Update three years later: I always knew Jean Parker was wonderful, and this film just reaffirms it. I'm also very struck by the treatment of George's afterlife. Allan is met by his family and taken to heaven, and Michael remains Topper-like to help his friends. But George... George takes a route seldom seen in movies.
It's clear that he has some dark sin in his past, though we're never told what it is. When he steps off into his dark, ominous destination, it's very foreboding. But foreboding of what, exactly? Is that Hell he's going to? Is it Purgatory? That he goes without a fight suggests the latter, but there's no actual identification made of it
So what did you think? Leave your thoughts in the comments.
An Angelina Jolie two-fer
She can be pretentious and ungrateful at the same time! Is there no limit to her talents?
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Yes, it's true. We're teapots.
Last November I made a bet with Pastor Paul (who's basically a good guy apart from his revolting UW loyalties) on the outcome of the Apple Cup game. Well, the Huskies came, they saw, they defiled us like a fire hydrant.
So a year later, I'm paying up as promised.
From the left, that's Covarr, Long Drink and me with Visigoth in front. (And Octopus Boy occasionally popping in in the lower right corner.)
So a year later, I'm paying up as promised.
From the left, that's Covarr, Long Drink and me with Visigoth in front. (And Octopus Boy occasionally popping in in the lower right corner.)
Monday, November 22, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Pope changes his mind. Well, not really.
So the pope reiterates the Church's position on condom use, expands on it a little, and the media hear a complete reversal of position. (Must resist bawdy pun. Must resist...)
Look, the basic Church teaching on sex is still the same. Intentional artificial contraception is a sin. Period. So is any sexual activity outside of a sacramental marriage. Period. So (by extension) is all homosexual activity. Period.
None of that means that the same devices that can act as contraceptives are forbidden for other purposes. I have a friend (not Catholic but maintaining Christian chastity) who asked me once if my Church considered it a sin for her to take birth control pills for the purpose of regulating her womanly schedule. It's fine.
In the case the pope was commenting on, the sin is already taking place in the form of homosexual activity. The additional sin of contraception is irrelevant; the male prostitute isn't going to get knocked up this side of the Weekly World News. The condom isn't the sin; the buggery is.
Basically, Papa Ratzi said exactly what he's said all along, that nobody paid attention to. Now all of a sudden, they hear what he's saying and think it's the opposite of his previous position. No it's not; it's the opposite of their distortion of his earlier statements.
And they have the effrontery to call journalism a profession.
Look, the basic Church teaching on sex is still the same. Intentional artificial contraception is a sin. Period. So is any sexual activity outside of a sacramental marriage. Period. So (by extension) is all homosexual activity. Period.
None of that means that the same devices that can act as contraceptives are forbidden for other purposes. I have a friend (not Catholic but maintaining Christian chastity) who asked me once if my Church considered it a sin for her to take birth control pills for the purpose of regulating her womanly schedule. It's fine.
In the case the pope was commenting on, the sin is already taking place in the form of homosexual activity. The additional sin of contraception is irrelevant; the male prostitute isn't going to get knocked up this side of the Weekly World News. The condom isn't the sin; the buggery is.
Basically, Papa Ratzi said exactly what he's said all along, that nobody paid attention to. Now all of a sudden, they hear what he's saying and think it's the opposite of his previous position. No it's not; it's the opposite of their distortion of his earlier statements.
And they have the effrontery to call journalism a profession.
Oh, but this could never happen!
Death panels are merely the product of Sarah Palin's delusions. Liberals would never dream of such a thing.
Remember, our children are going to pay the taxes that support people like Krugman.
Remember, our children are going to pay the taxes that support people like Krugman.
Sidebar updates
I'm embarrassed to see that it's been so long since I updated my sidebar, all my kids' ages are a year short. I also got rid of a couple of blogs that look to be defunct. I left some others in place, because I hold out hope of seeing more posts from them.
Meanwhile, I've also got a couple to highlight. First is Lyme and Back Again. Kaari is my best friend's little sister, and while it's strange for me to think of her as a grown-up (I remember her being born, for heaven's sake), she does write a good blog post. I listed her under "Prods" because she and her husband pastor a Protestant church in Mexico. She's mixing her reflections on living with a chronic disease with some good insights into the Christian life.
Under "Papes" is a man who makes me want to remove my hat when I read him. He struggles to balance same-sex attraction with his Catholic faith. While there are a great many gay activists who want to see guys like him disappear altogether, I'm proud to link him. Despite what you read daily, it's not a foregone conclusion that anybody who is homosexually inclined must live out the gay lifestyle. In other words, free will doesn't stop at your willie. I'm not sure where in Washington Courageman is, but I hope I get to meet him someday.
Meanwhile, I've also got a couple to highlight. First is Lyme and Back Again. Kaari is my best friend's little sister, and while it's strange for me to think of her as a grown-up (I remember her being born, for heaven's sake), she does write a good blog post. I listed her under "Prods" because she and her husband pastor a Protestant church in Mexico. She's mixing her reflections on living with a chronic disease with some good insights into the Christian life.
Under "Papes" is a man who makes me want to remove my hat when I read him. He struggles to balance same-sex attraction with his Catholic faith. While there are a great many gay activists who want to see guys like him disappear altogether, I'm proud to link him. Despite what you read daily, it's not a foregone conclusion that anybody who is homosexually inclined must live out the gay lifestyle. In other words, free will doesn't stop at your willie. I'm not sure where in Washington Courageman is, but I hope I get to meet him someday.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Requiem for a rogue
A friend of mine died this morning. I got the news from my boss, who also knew him, when the funeral home e-mailed the death notice. He was almost 80 and his health had been failing, but it still came as a shock.
I've been assigned to write a memorial story on him for the Greatest Newspaper in the Northwest™, once all the dust settles and the family has time to talk. I sorta wish I could do a first-person one, but then, most of what I remember best I couldn't put in the paper anyway. I used to handle a lot of his correspondence and assorted office stuff, as well as editing his legal contracts and (at one point) sorting out 14 years' worth of tax receipts. I even typed a book he'd written, beginning to end, outlining a salmon-protection system he was trying to sell for the Columbia and Snake River dams.
It wasn't the first book he'd written. He also published a book on waterfowl that I think is still in print, and a couple of children's books, and a book on how to survive a Chapter Eleven bankruptcy, based on his own experiences.
The memories come back piecemeal. Among other things, some of my most colorful obscene phrases I learned from him. He was the only person I ever knew who could turn a consistent profit gambling. Until he turned 75 or so, I'd have bet there wasn't a skirt in three counties he hadn't chased. I remember ordering flowers for, oh, maybe five different women one Valentine's day on his behalf. I had to hand-create the cards to go with them, because several of them included suggestions that no florist in town would have accepted.
He could never find a lawyer who knew more than he did. He had an entire law library on the walls of his office. I know, because I moved those damn books four or five times. He used to hire a lawyer to rubber-stamp the papers he had drawn up himself by longhand, which I then typed up. The reason he had hired me to sort his tax receipts was that he was going eyeball-to-eyeball with the IRS. He did, and won back every penny they had seized. How many people can say that?
He had a stroke about five years ago, and had to be in rehab out of town for several months. He used to phone me to go over to his Moses Lake office and play his answering machine, then fax him the messages. Technology was never his strong suit. But he knew people. He had his fingers in real estate, agriculture and a hundred other enterprises. He didn't really need the money by the time I knew him; it was the fun of making it that appealed to him. He used to tip waitresses more than the cost of the bill, just for the hell of it. He didn't trust banks, but he carried a roll of hundreds for walking-around money. He always gave it away as freely as he made it, which was saying something.
When he closed the office a couple of years ago, Long Drink and I helped him pack up forty years of doodads and debris. He gave me boxes of stuff, including an obscenely-shaped glass flower vase. Long Drink and I bought flowers and put it on the mantel to see how long my wife would take to notice. Eventually she had to ask why we were snickering. She wasn't surprised; she knew where it had come from.
He was a charmer, a bastard, a rogue of the old school. He wasn't always easy to get along with, but he was always interesting. I'll miss him.
I've been assigned to write a memorial story on him for the Greatest Newspaper in the Northwest™, once all the dust settles and the family has time to talk. I sorta wish I could do a first-person one, but then, most of what I remember best I couldn't put in the paper anyway. I used to handle a lot of his correspondence and assorted office stuff, as well as editing his legal contracts and (at one point) sorting out 14 years' worth of tax receipts. I even typed a book he'd written, beginning to end, outlining a salmon-protection system he was trying to sell for the Columbia and Snake River dams.
It wasn't the first book he'd written. He also published a book on waterfowl that I think is still in print, and a couple of children's books, and a book on how to survive a Chapter Eleven bankruptcy, based on his own experiences.
The memories come back piecemeal. Among other things, some of my most colorful obscene phrases I learned from him. He was the only person I ever knew who could turn a consistent profit gambling. Until he turned 75 or so, I'd have bet there wasn't a skirt in three counties he hadn't chased. I remember ordering flowers for, oh, maybe five different women one Valentine's day on his behalf. I had to hand-create the cards to go with them, because several of them included suggestions that no florist in town would have accepted.
He could never find a lawyer who knew more than he did. He had an entire law library on the walls of his office. I know, because I moved those damn books four or five times. He used to hire a lawyer to rubber-stamp the papers he had drawn up himself by longhand, which I then typed up. The reason he had hired me to sort his tax receipts was that he was going eyeball-to-eyeball with the IRS. He did, and won back every penny they had seized. How many people can say that?
He had a stroke about five years ago, and had to be in rehab out of town for several months. He used to phone me to go over to his Moses Lake office and play his answering machine, then fax him the messages. Technology was never his strong suit. But he knew people. He had his fingers in real estate, agriculture and a hundred other enterprises. He didn't really need the money by the time I knew him; it was the fun of making it that appealed to him. He used to tip waitresses more than the cost of the bill, just for the hell of it. He didn't trust banks, but he carried a roll of hundreds for walking-around money. He always gave it away as freely as he made it, which was saying something.
When he closed the office a couple of years ago, Long Drink and I helped him pack up forty years of doodads and debris. He gave me boxes of stuff, including an obscenely-shaped glass flower vase. Long Drink and I bought flowers and put it on the mantel to see how long my wife would take to notice. Eventually she had to ask why we were snickering. She wasn't surprised; she knew where it had come from.
He was a charmer, a bastard, a rogue of the old school. He wasn't always easy to get along with, but he was always interesting. I'll miss him.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
If World War II were covered by today's media
If your browser is like mine, you'll have to click the little thingy in the corner to open a new tab so you can read it. You don't even have to read all the way through to get the point. Unless you want to.
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