Outrageous!

A New York Times writer is a moral idiot:

... I can imagine a film other than "Munich" or "United 93," a greater film, a film about different kinds of courage. In this film, the courage of the passengers would be shown and honored, but there would be an equal effort to show the courage of the terrorists (without calling them simply "evil" or "insane"). You can feel already, I know, that that film is less likely. It has a kind of moral ambivalence not settled by giving 5 percent of the proceeds to families of the lost.

The courage of the terrorists! What courage? Attacking and murdering an unsuspecting, unarmed flight attendant does not display courage. Trading on the belief of passengers they would not be hurt if they cooperated?

And then there's this:

[O]n 9/11, we faced the first need to ask ourselves how other people — evil, alien, insane — could be so brave. The history of terrorism — and it includes the independence of this country — is that in the end you have to understand the grievance of the aggrieved, whether you agree with it or not. That film has still to come.

We know their grievance: They want us all dead. Alternatively, we could all become Muslims and don burkas. Wouldn't that be fun?

The moral obtuseness of some people defies belief.

Kvetcher nation

Whatever happened to the old pioneer spirit? Or for that matter, Yankee ingenuity?

I'll tell you what, they've been replaced by kvetching. Kvetching combines the most obnoxious features of whining and complaining: you whine vociferously and never shut up. Example:

W-a-a-ah, I want $1 gas! I'm entitled to it! I deserve it! This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me! My life has become unbearable, now that it costs $60 to fill my SUV. Who's to blame? Someone must be! Evil oil companies. I can't take it any more! Life in this country is no longer possible. Blame Bush! Blame anybody! Boohoohoo!

The whole country is kvetching about oil prices--the news media, Congress, even the President.

When not obsessed with gas prices, we kvetch continually about the war in Iraq:

People are getting killed over there! Over 2,000! No-one should ever be killed! War is bad! Iraq is not becoming a democracy fast enough to suit me! Boohoohoo! I want these Iraqis to settle down immediately or I'll cry! Blame Bush! Bush lied!

The back-up kvetch, when things are (otherwise) going well:

Global warming, oy! Life as we know it is going to stop next Tuesday! I demand an end to global warming, everyone but me should stop using oil! Boohoohoo!

Another group whine

We know who you are, gougers!

Iran's president quakes in his boots

UN threatens dire consequences:

Confronted by the UN’s might, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is holding his nerve somehow:

Iran has ignored a UN Security Council call to suspend all nuclear fuel enrichment, a report by the head of the UN’s nuclear watchdog has concluded.

Mohamed ElBaradei’s report said that Tehran had done little to answer questions over its nuclear intentions.

The UN wants the research halted amid Western fears - denied by Iran - that Tehran might develop nuclear weapons.

US Ambassador John Bolton said he would now push for Iran to face mandatory UN demands to stop its nuclear work.

There exists the faint possibility that Iran may not comply with any UN demands. What then, UN? Will a scowling be launched? Going to back up your demands with some smashmouth finger-waving? Could it be time for Kofi’s expression of deep concern, outlawed under the Geneva Convention because of the paralysing giggling fits it induces?

John Kerry looks like Ichabod Crane

  
Only not as good-looking.

Men can't find anything, even if it is where they put it

Johnny V can't find his keys.

Despite his excuses, that's because: 1)they're not where he put them; 2) they're not where they belong.

I have at least 1,000,000 things in this house, and I can find 999,999 of them, and I don't need the other one anyway, and anyway it will turn up, maybe.

The scenario in the Charm household is a little different. It goes like this:

Mr C: What did you do with my keys?
Me: (pretend I didn't hear him).

Mr C: You must have put them somewhere.
Me: Where were you when you had them last?
Mr C: (accusingly) right here!
I find keys, exactly where he put them, cleverly hidden by today's paper, which he put on top of them.

Alternative scenario:
Me: Maybe they're in the bedroom?
Mr C: I wasn't in the bedroom!
I find keys in bedroom, on top of his bureau.
Mr C: Oh.

PS: I never clean his office. You should see it.

My mother, the lawyer

 

My family don't want me to use any of their (current) pictures on my blog, so I am scanning in old family pictures. This one is my mother. If she were alive she would probably tear itup--she never liked pictures of herself. 

human rights for prisoners, not for soldiers

I was listening to NPR yesterday, and came upon this gem.

[A] report by several human-rights groups says that, so far, only low-ranking soldiers have borne the brunt of the scandal, and that abuse in Iraq, as well as Afghanistan, is still widespread.

If you listen to the podcast, the "human rights groups" are angry that more soldiers, particularly high-ranking ones, have not been punished and are not rotting in jail. It never seems to occur to these dummies that military personnel have the right to due process. They even have the right to be acquitted or have a light sentence imposed. The HRG will not be satisfied until these soldiers are punished.

Too bad for these soldiers that they are not criminals who murdered people while holding up a convenience store, like Tookie Williams. The human rights groups would be agitating for their release.

I'm not condoning abuse of prisoners, but making someone wear a woman's underwear on his head is not the moral equivalent of cold-blooded murder. It's just that these ghetto types are oh so much more authentic than a guy in uniform.

Note to Bush: possible new energy source?

We have estuaries-- the Hudson River up to about Poughkeepsie. How about it?

Lions and tigers and bears (and Democrats)--oh my!

More culture of corruption.

This is what the library wage slaves are doing all day

Definitely NSFW.

A guide to building and staffing secret prisons

It can be done, according to bamapachyderm.

I always thought the secret prison thing was on a par with the Tawana Brawley non-incident--something that strains credulity to the breaking point. But, as President Bush ought to know, you can't prove a negative. No-one can conclusively say that Iraq didn't have WMDs. Maybe we're just not looking in the right places?

No-one can prove that these secret prisons don't exist, either. The EU denies it? Well of course they would. That just proves it must be true! I think the secret prison thing is going to enter folklore. Oliver Stone will make a movie about it.

Wow! this disproves the maxim that two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.

Philadelphians talk funny

I listen to NPR in my car. I know it raises my blood pressure and makes every hair on my head stand up in rage. However.

We in northern Delaware are too small and primitive to have our own public radio station. The whole state only has one Congressman, for God's sake. Of course, Senator Biden talks enough for an entire delegation from a medium-sized state, so that kind of makes up for it. Sort of. You could say.

Now you ask: what does this have to do with Philadelphians, who reside in a whole nother state for God's sake? Why dump on them?

Okay. As I say, we don't have our own NPR, so we make do with Philadelphia's. We don't even get our own weather, we have to borrow it from Philadelphia. We're just a miserable hinterland, unworthy of having our own rush hour traffic reports. We have to make do with those across the state lines. The traffic report even mentions New Jersey, from time to time, but never a word about Delaware.

Actually, I find this quite soothing, tooling around Delaware at 4 o'clock and hearing about tractor trailers overturning on I-95 south while I whiz through back roads. There's just one thing that puzzles me about the Philly traffic reports.

What in God's name is the Skoogle? Could this possibly be how you pronounce Schuylkill? And if so, Why?

As I say, Philadelphians talk funny.

Now don't get me wrong. You guys have the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, Betsy's Ross' house, etc. You're world class. But Skoogle? It sounds like some kind of Jewish food, a kugel with chocolate chips in it maybe.

Can air travel be made any more uncomfortable?

The answer is a tentative yes.

Cattle class could take on an entirely new meaning in air travel if Airbus goes through with its latest wheeze.

According to a report in the International Herald Tribune, the European plane maker is floating the idea of standing-room only at the back. Passengers in the standing section would be propped against a padded backboard and held in place with a harness.

I can recall a day when air travel had a certain aura of glamour--you wore lipstick on the plane-- but that era is long gone. Even before all the sham "security" came along, the airlines had managed to create the ambiance of a Greyhound bus station.

Now they are trying for a new level: they want to replicate the New York City subway during rush hour. Before the trains were all air-conditioned.

I'm going to quit flying if they hire panhandlers to circulate among the passengers, selling free "newspapers."

Thanks to Tinkerty tonk.

Getting priorities straight

according to palmetto pundit:

I suppose one is entitled to worry about penguins suddenly being forced to wear sunscreen on their long march across the desert that just yesterday was Antarctica, but I have better things to do with my time and much more urgent problems to worry about. My gut tells me that a mad man with a nuke or a terrorist with a death wish and a dirty bomb is a much more urgent threat than a melting iceberg. I could be wrong, but I doubt it.

I discover the formula for world peace

and scaling down my wardrobe.

I got rid of the dress-up-for-work-and-boring-meetings garb before I left New Jersey, sensing correctly that I was not going to be going to work or to boring meetings any more. But I still have too much stuff. I have two closets full.

So here's what I do. Every day I put on a different outfit. If I really love it, I put it back in my closet. If I don't, it goes into the box for Good Will. I've gotten rid of a surprising amount of stuff this way.

You mention world peace? Well, I haven't got time to deal with that today. Later.

New Jersey--biohazards R us

from New Jersey guy.

Jewish life=bashing Republicans

Henry Waxman speaks about "vibrant Jewish life," and he's not talking about potato kugel.

My date with a headhunter

Say uncle takes on headhunters:

[R]ecruiters and headhunters are almost completely useless human beings. Of the several interviews I’ve been on, only one was arranged by a headhunter. And these recruiting firms make shit up. They post jobs they don’t have in an effort to get you to send them your résumé. I’ve even confirmed this with a headhunter friend of mine. I have basically written off one local firm because they have nothing but made up jobs. Seriously. I contact a local firm and tell them I saw a particular ad they had in the paper and express my interest. Should be no problem setting me up since they have my info. But they don’t have a job. I ask about the ad and they tell me it’s already been filled. Really? You filled it in 20 fucking minutes? I should have figured that out since they probably wouldn’t run ads if they already have candidates who were qualified.

My experience with headhunters confirms this. I was contacted by a consultant who specializes in libraries (bad sign)about a plum director's job. I knew the job existed, and I knew why the job was vacant--because the Board of Trustees contained certifiable lunatics. When a library board hires a consultant, they are looking for the Magic Candidate, who doesn't exist. Still, I was flattered.

At the consultant's request I sent in a resume. I started to get phone calls from the consultant, calls that went from pertinent to impertinent. Then I was imperiously summoned for an interview--by the consultant. After the interview, more questions, long fishing expeditions. She practically asked me if I had an innie or an outie. It became quite clear that the consultant did not know what she was doing and was trying to earn her fee by grilling me, and possibly other candidates as well.
I told her that it was time to meet with the Board. They knew all about me, but I didn't know what the board was seeking to accomplish. Now it was time for some information from them. That was the last I heard from her.

They spent a lot of money on this consultant, but never hired anyone. They ended up asking the previous director to come back from retirement, which she did. Now I believe the job is vacant once again.

Carnival of Insanity is up!

It just gets better and better.