‘More downtown sidewalks to be replaced with grants’
Concrete has been proven the best substance.
http://theparisnews.com/news/article_d2e21040-ee9e-11e3-9a97-001a4bcf887a.html#user-comment-area
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Thursday, June 5, 2014
TwodaysagoIwenttoanApplestoreforthefirsttime,
where the blue shirts talked that fast,
and discovered: (a) the future; or, (b) the end of the universe.
OK: (c) both.
My wife’s Really Intelligent Phone had defonked. Totally, ya know?
Here is what I noticed at the Apple Store: They don’t have anything, except for a lot of bare tables, a few stools, cables running from the table, and many Comic Book Store escapees wearing blue shirts.
The back of the store is no doubt filled with devices in boxes, AKA Things I Don’t Know How to Use and Don’t Really Have Need For.
While my wife and I were waiting for a technician to return with her new Really Intelligence Phone from behind the curtain, a man slid into a chair near us. He said, “This is the greatest store I have ever seen!”
I thought about saying “I have a First Issue Spider Man comic for sale.” But I don’t. And that would have been cruel.
and discovered: (a) the future; or, (b) the end of the universe.
OK: (c) both.
My wife’s Really Intelligent Phone had defonked. Totally, ya know?
Here is what I noticed at the Apple Store: They don’t have anything, except for a lot of bare tables, a few stools, cables running from the table, and many Comic Book Store escapees wearing blue shirts.
The back of the store is no doubt filled with devices in boxes, AKA Things I Don’t Know How to Use and Don’t Really Have Need For.
While my wife and I were waiting for a technician to return with her new Really Intelligence Phone from behind the curtain, a man slid into a chair near us. He said, “This is the greatest store I have ever seen!”
I thought about saying “I have a First Issue Spider Man comic for sale.” But I don’t. And that would have been cruel.
It all started at 0512
0602. Three dogs barking. Neighbor let out his yippy furballs; Kathleen’s American bulldog reacts: Whine. (Let me go see what that is.) Yippy furballs yip. K’s dog: Wuf. Y dogs: Yip, yip, yip. K’s dog: Grrr. Grr. Y dogs: Yip, yip, yip. K’s dog: Grrrr. Grrrr. (Let me out and I’ll put a stop to that yipping.) Repeat, etc.
0606. All dogs satisfied with performance of protective sounds.
Backtrack. 0512. Pain in my right hip drove me from bed. Other times that happens, I go to guest bedroom, where bed has a different mattress, one that gives a different support to the hip. Kathleen is using that room while she is here for Mrs. R.’s funeral. John is in the other guest room.
Earlier in the week, my wife asked: “What are you going to do when your hip starts hurting?” I replied: “Suffer.” She suggested I use the reclines-fully-horizontal chair in the living room. So, at 0512 I put on my jeans and emptied my pockets, got my pillow and went to the living room.
K’s three dogs were asleep in the hall. They followed me to the living room. I got a quilt from a couch and sat in the recliner and reclined and pulled the quilt for cover. My feet and 12 inches of each leg hung over the foot rest. I got as comfortable as possible. K’s big dog licked the top of my head.
I did not get back to sleep. I turned onto my left side to alleviate the pain. After a short time, I turned onto my stomach as much as the chair allowed. Any more turning, I figured the chair would decide to make its own turn (over) and the sound of the chair falling and my exclamations would wake up my wife and K and John and any dog that for some reason was sleeping.
0544. Charley (red poodle) begins complaints from his cage in another room. May I get up? … I want to get up. … Are you going to let me up? Repeat, repeat, etc.
0552. Enough. I let the dogs out. All five, I thought. From living room I hear high-pitched “Bark. … Bark.” K’s smaller pug has walked behind the television and cannot figure out how to come out. She is looking through the window and asking the dogs outside for assistance. K had said Lola is as dumb as a sack of rocks. Now I agree. I convince Lola she can turn around. I let her out.
All the dogs are in; all the peoples are still asleep.
This straight chair is comfortable. I think I will sit here for a while.
0606. All dogs satisfied with performance of protective sounds.
Backtrack. 0512. Pain in my right hip drove me from bed. Other times that happens, I go to guest bedroom, where bed has a different mattress, one that gives a different support to the hip. Kathleen is using that room while she is here for Mrs. R.’s funeral. John is in the other guest room.
Earlier in the week, my wife asked: “What are you going to do when your hip starts hurting?” I replied: “Suffer.” She suggested I use the reclines-fully-horizontal chair in the living room. So, at 0512 I put on my jeans and emptied my pockets, got my pillow and went to the living room.
K’s three dogs were asleep in the hall. They followed me to the living room. I got a quilt from a couch and sat in the recliner and reclined and pulled the quilt for cover. My feet and 12 inches of each leg hung over the foot rest. I got as comfortable as possible. K’s big dog licked the top of my head.
I did not get back to sleep. I turned onto my left side to alleviate the pain. After a short time, I turned onto my stomach as much as the chair allowed. Any more turning, I figured the chair would decide to make its own turn (over) and the sound of the chair falling and my exclamations would wake up my wife and K and John and any dog that for some reason was sleeping.
0544. Charley (red poodle) begins complaints from his cage in another room. May I get up? … I want to get up. … Are you going to let me up? Repeat, repeat, etc.
0552. Enough. I let the dogs out. All five, I thought. From living room I hear high-pitched “Bark. … Bark.” K’s smaller pug has walked behind the television and cannot figure out how to come out. She is looking through the window and asking the dogs outside for assistance. K had said Lola is as dumb as a sack of rocks. Now I agree. I convince Lola she can turn around. I let her out.
All the dogs are in; all the peoples are still asleep.
This straight chair is comfortable. I think I will sit here for a while.
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
You should be jailed for thinking
“Critics suggested not only that I be fired for my views but that I should be prosecuted for them, and that the government should ensure that such views are not published. Live-and-let-live is not the Left’s way, never has been, and never will be. It is not sufficient that transsexuals should be free to act on their delusions — the rest of us are expected to participate in them with unreserved enthusiasm, and the Left is willing to use the state to compel us to do so. To simply believe otherwise and to share those views in print is in the minds of many on the Left not only a social transgression but something that should be a crime. The belief that members of minority political tendencies should be jailed for their views is very much in vogue for the Left at the moment. Democrats in the Senate are seeking to repeal the First Amendment. All of us — conservatives and whatever traditional liberals there still may be on the left side of the spectrum — should fully appreciate the sobering fact that there is a nascent, popular, authoritarian movement among members of the Left that supports everything from censorship to literal, non-metaphorical gulags in which to imprison people for their political beliefs.”
Linked at http://pjmedia.com/eddriscoll/2014/06/02/fallacies-fashions-fascism/
Original article: http://www.nationalreview.com/corner/379312/rage-rhetoric-and-reform-kevin-d-williamson#!
Cause of irritation among Progressocrats:
http://www.nationalreview.com/article/379188/laverne-cox-not-woman-kevin-d-williamson
Linked at http://pjmedia.com/eddriscoll/2014/06/02/fallacies-fashions-fascism/
Original article: http://www.nationalreview.com/corner/379312/rage-rhetoric-and-reform-kevin-d-williamson#!
Cause of irritation among Progressocrats:
http://www.nationalreview.com/article/379188/laverne-cox-not-woman-kevin-d-williamson
One of the funniest dumb things ever
Austin artist angry she has to pay for community improvements she voted for.
“’I’m at the breaking point,’ said Gretchen Gardner, an Austin artist who bought a 1930s bungalow in the Bouldin neighborhood just south of downtown in 1991 and has watched her property tax bill soar to $8,500 this year.
“’It’s not because I don’t like paying taxes,’ said Gardner, who attended both meetings. ‘I have voted for every park, every library, all the school improvements, for light rail, for anything that will make this city better. But now I can’t afford to live here anymore. I’ll protest my appraisal notice, but that’s not enough. Someone needs to step in and address the big picture.’”
Link at: http://hotair.com/archives/2014/06/02/liberal-austin-homeowners-surprised-to-find-they-have-to-pay-all-the-taxes-they-voted-for/
Story: http://www.mystatesman.com/news/business/surge-in-property-tax-bills-spurs-push-to-reform-t/ngBXt/?icmp=statesman_internallink_textlink_apr2013_statesmanstubtomystatesman_launch#c710210c.3313332.735385
“’I’m at the breaking point,’ said Gretchen Gardner, an Austin artist who bought a 1930s bungalow in the Bouldin neighborhood just south of downtown in 1991 and has watched her property tax bill soar to $8,500 this year.
“’It’s not because I don’t like paying taxes,’ said Gardner, who attended both meetings. ‘I have voted for every park, every library, all the school improvements, for light rail, for anything that will make this city better. But now I can’t afford to live here anymore. I’ll protest my appraisal notice, but that’s not enough. Someone needs to step in and address the big picture.’”
Link at: http://hotair.com/archives/2014/06/02/liberal-austin-homeowners-surprised-to-find-they-have-to-pay-all-the-taxes-they-voted-for/
Story: http://www.mystatesman.com/news/business/surge-in-property-tax-bills-spurs-push-to-reform-t/ngBXt/?icmp=statesman_internallink_textlink_apr2013_statesmanstubtomystatesman_launch#c710210c.3313332.735385
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
John's reaction to his mother's death
When Cylla told John his mother was dead, “He rejoiced.” She went on: “He clapped his hands and he grinned and he said, ‘All right!’”
What a terrible reaction. Except it wasn’t.
All his life John was told when a Christian dies, she or he goes to a better place, where there is no pain.
John had seen his father go through the process of dying. He had seen his Uncle Murray and his Aunt May unconscious in hospital beds, in that most unflattering of poses, that open-mouth, embarrassing, natural, before-death attitude that, thankfully, the dead most likely do not remember.
John had seen his mother in the same posture. During weekend visits at our house, he had watched while Cylla fed Mrs. Rodgers. He had heard his mother’s complaints and accusations when Cylla did the diaper changes.
On the way back to Texarkana after that first weekend in March, John said, “My momma’s going to die.”
“Yes, John, she is,” Cylla said. “Mother is old. People get old and they die. It will happen to me and it will happen to Bob and it will happen to you. But Mother is not dead now, and we are going to take care of her as much as we can as long as she is here.”
After a moment, John said, “They ought to just let her die.”
Among people who are as badly brain damaged as John, there is mostly a realization of now. Tomorrow is not here; yesterday is gone.
But the sense of death – as much as it is sensed – seems to bring a realization of beyond tomorrow. Or maybe not. Maybe it is only a continuance of now.
Whichever, to John the end of life is part of the road to Canaan’s land – no sad farewells, no tear-dimmed eyes, where all is joy and peace and love.
What a terrible reaction. Except it wasn’t.
All his life John was told when a Christian dies, she or he goes to a better place, where there is no pain.
John had seen his father go through the process of dying. He had seen his Uncle Murray and his Aunt May unconscious in hospital beds, in that most unflattering of poses, that open-mouth, embarrassing, natural, before-death attitude that, thankfully, the dead most likely do not remember.
John had seen his mother in the same posture. During weekend visits at our house, he had watched while Cylla fed Mrs. Rodgers. He had heard his mother’s complaints and accusations when Cylla did the diaper changes.
On the way back to Texarkana after that first weekend in March, John said, “My momma’s going to die.”
“Yes, John, she is,” Cylla said. “Mother is old. People get old and they die. It will happen to me and it will happen to Bob and it will happen to you. But Mother is not dead now, and we are going to take care of her as much as we can as long as she is here.”
After a moment, John said, “They ought to just let her die.”
Among people who are as badly brain damaged as John, there is mostly a realization of now. Tomorrow is not here; yesterday is gone.
But the sense of death – as much as it is sensed – seems to bring a realization of beyond tomorrow. Or maybe not. Maybe it is only a continuance of now.
Whichever, to John the end of life is part of the road to Canaan’s land – no sad farewells, no tear-dimmed eyes, where all is joy and peace and love.
Monday, June 2, 2014
First they came for the ‘We don’t have proof’ drug dealer
Who’s next?
Feds keep $200,000 even after charges dropped, say the gub’mint has a right to the money. Analogues or something.
DEA filed for “arrest and seizure of the Defendant Currency.”
http://www.startribune.com/local/261384251.html
At fark.com.
Feds keep $200,000 even after charges dropped, say the gub’mint has a right to the money. Analogues or something.
DEA filed for “arrest and seizure of the Defendant Currency.”
http://www.startribune.com/local/261384251.html
At fark.com.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
