I don't look at USS Clueless nearly enough. Instapundit linked to his post on the Liberal contingent who want to reenstate the draft.

This latest post is on the need of each subsequent generation to exert its independence from the previous one. I had figured that that was mostly what was going on politically. My thought would be, though, that given the fact that so many Boomers are still engaging in this separation from Mommy and Daddy, that more in my generation and beyond would be more conservative. Perhaps they are.

Lileks, again more eloquent than I will ever be, on the creep who wrote the Tillman smear in the Daily Collegian.

He hits the tone perfectly, I think. Tired, resigned, not looking forward to the upcoming, uglier cultural battles here.

Oh, I got my correspondent from Soldiers' Angels!

Also, for those who would *really* like to 'do it' for God and Country - take a look at this organisation!

-via Instapundit.

Yeah, someone's a pendejo, alright.

At least the UMass president had the sense to condemn this heinous insult.

-via opinionjournal.com

How do I feel?
Tired.

How do I feel?
Angry.

Sad.

Frustrated? Not really. It's out of my hands, so I can't allow it to bother me that much.
That only saps strength that I can use to fight other battles.

Here's what I know so far:
She was taken to the hospital on Saturday morning.
Spent the day in the emergency room.
Was transferred to ICU on Sunday.
Moved to another room on Tuesday.
Will be there possibly till tomorrow.

What was wrong? Couldn't eat? Couldn't drink?
Didn't do either or tried and failed for a week straight.
Had a bleeding ulcer.
Electrolytes were down so low that she could have had a heart attack.

Grandpa was also looking dehydrated, malnourished.

So many phone calls. Do I go back to set things straight? Can I? Should I?
I can't depend on her or Grandpa for the truth.
I can just piece things together.

What happened around her losing the job?
Is she taking care of administrative things around the house?
Is she safe there? Is grandpa safe there?
If I can't go back, who can I enlist to help? No one has any obligation to her. A lot of bridges have been burned.

XII

La planete suivante etait habitee par un buveur. Cette visite fut tres courte, mais elle plongea le petit prince dans une grande melancolie:

-Que fais-tu la? dit-il au buveur, qu'il trouva installe en silence devant une collection de bouteliies vides et une collection de bouteilles pleines.
-Je bois, repondit le buveur, d'un air lugubre.
-Pourquoi bois-tu? lui demanda le petit prince.
-Pour oublier, repondit le buveur.
-Pour oublier quoi? s'entuit le petit prince qui deja le plaignait.
-Pour oublier que j'ai honte, avoua le buveur en baissant la tete.
-Honte de quoi? s'informa le petit prince qui desirait le secourir.
-Honte de boire! acheva le buveur qui s'enferma definitivement dans le silence.

Et le petit prince s'en fut, perplexe.
Les grandes personnes sont decidement tres tres bizarres, se disait-il en lui-meme durant le voyage.

de "Le Petit Prince," Antoine de Saint-Exupery


XII

The following planet was inhabited by a drinker. This visit was very short, but it plunged the little prince into a great depression:

-"What are you doing there?" he asked the drinker, who he found seated in silence in front of a collection of empty bottles and a collection of full bottles.
-"I'm drinking," answered the drinker, lugubriously.
-"Why are you drinking?" the little prince asked him.
-"To forget," answered the drinker.
-"To forget what?" enquired the little prince, who already felt sorry for him.
-"To forget that I am ashamed," confessed the drinker, hanging his head.
-"To forget what?" asked the little prince again, who wanted to help him.
-"The shame of drinking!" finished the drinker who definitively closed himself off in silence.

And the little prince went on his way, perplexed.
"Big people are decidedly very very strange," he said to himself during the rest of his trip.

Last night, Pablo and I went to TGI Friday in Everett, MA for dinner. We happened upon this place a couple weeks ago during an errand run. Being chain restaurant snobs, we were very pleasantly surprised with our orders.

Did something I don't ordinarily do: ordered dessert. Take a look at the menu. Notice anything odd? Pablo did. In his most enraged, vitriolic tone (what I refer to as the 'little b!tch wolf' tone of voice), he shot over to me 'how about marzipan insanity?'

Aside from the TGIF items:

Oreo Madness
Chocolate Obsession,

We came up with a few others:

praline psychosis
mocha dysthymia
melba sociopathy
marshmallow neurosis
peanut butter compulsion

The waitress thought it rather funny, too. We all decided that we could really go to town with a copy of the DSM-IV and a cookbook. Wouldn't it be great to have the capital to start a restaurant like
Finale, but for the ironic, hip, artsy set?

If you've any other suggestions, please let me know.

All this is to help me remember that I have a rich life outside of work. Life is good. As dysfunctional as it is in the office, I can leave for the bigger world outside and be happy.

As of yesterday, I've received all the materials I ordered from Amazon. I started the day by greeting my coworkers with labdien, drogs! Proceeded to ask a few of them for their passports and if this was their first visit to Latvija.

Hal is bemused. Why am I doing this, who cares? I don't know, I'm doing it because I can. It's good mental exercise. I do well when a language is spoken by someone I love. That's how I learned Dutch and Spanish. Is he confused or trying to be patently unhelpful? Can't tell. Last night he told me that he couldn't understand what I was saying because I had a 'weird accent.'

I did come up with a fun game to play, however. I pucker up and ask, "ludzu?"
He gives me a kiss. I smile and answer back, "paldies!" This got repeated many times. I only stopped because he had to leave. I could have gone on indefinately.

I've been amusing myself with a new toy lately. Last week I learned to use a drop spindle. I was warned that my chiropractor might have words with me, due to how much stretching I'd be doing while spinning. So far, I'm not hurting, though. Of course, I limit myself to 1/2 an hour a day. The roving is a nice natural, grayish brown wool from a variety of sheep all over Maine. It is soft and full of lanolin. I love the smell of it and the feel of the oil on my hands. The scent drives the cats crazy. My bit of yarn is very uneven in thickness and there are lot of grafts. I'm slowly getting the feel of it, though. I'm even finding it relaxing. Not much cussing going on, either.

Bowling for Fallujah

This is the most realistic portrait that I've seen. I mean, it's not like he's an informed, intelligent voice in any debate any more than he is a caricature or a cartoon character.

Mental health days off.
Sleep, waking up to sun, reading some. I've forgotten what it's like to luxuriate in a book, rather than quick scan for relevant bits of information.

Yesterday and today, had two long walks in the sun. Took a spinning lesson (yes! finally! Another toy for me to frustrate myself with at the beginning) and got the back worked over.

Today - breakfast with a friend, lunch with a friend...nothing but a long weekend ahead of me.
It almost feels as though I have a life. Funny, that.

We all should take time out for tea. LeAnn baked a tea bread from the blueberries I schlepped back from Allen's last August.
Not only did it give a number of us a bit of a pause in the day, it provided me with a bit of a Proust recollection. I've now got Deer Isle on my mind.

Take a look at this! Another good way to support our men overseas. I signed up last night, am waiting for a confirmation call/email. We'll see what happens!

Taxes done! Yes!

I've been taking a bit of a breather from the news, as all that seems to be talked about is yet another 'quagmire' in Iraq and another Democratic Party Kangaroo Court in DC. (Non partisan? Feh! With just about everyone on the so called fact-finding commission formerly having worked for the Clinton Administration?....riiiiiight.) I did take a look at the Captain's Quarter Blog and Hugh Hewitt last night to see what they had to say about Jamie Gorelick (Hello, can you say Conflict of Interest?), Ashcroft's skewering of her and of the resultant press spin of the whole thing. All this, of course, I found via Instapundit.

One coworker, a very elegant dresser, came down to pay a visit in an amazing black and white houndstooth suit. The only words that would come to mind were "Coco Chanel." I made mention that Vogue Knitting a couple years back featured knitted reworks of classic Chanel suits and of how I wished I had the body for one.

Maybe I should attempt a classic, feminine suit. It would certainly be a rare gift to myself. Definately plus haute que la haute-couture, as I would have made the fabric myself in addition to piecing it all together. Maybe I'd start a new trend in indulgence - one for la haute tricoterie? If it looked horrible on me, I could always give it away.

I never much thought of myself as being the type for such items - but as I get older, the classics seem to be so much more appealing. Coco proclaimed a design for every woman. Did she have me in mind, though? I've always seen myself more as utilitarianism idealized by soviet-era propagandists, rather than an image of cool elegance like that put forth by the French fashion industry mid 20th century.

Africa Pundit

Different perspective from that normally shown (if shown at all) in the news.

Back again!
Allergies
Tax time!

Oh well.

Here is some more beautiful writing by Theodore Dalrymple on the nature of Islam vs Western Civilization.

It's finally up!

Morehouse Farm Merino Yarns

Go take a look at yarn heaven! While you're at it, too, check out the puzzle at the knitters' niche. Charming.

I have a kit for the lace cardigan that I've been using as the ultimate prize to get my UFOs done. Every now and again I take a skein of the yarn out and bury my nose in it, fetish it. The stuff is softer than cashmere.