There is always a difference between what one thinks one might do if one had one’s druthers and what one would in fact do when given a concrete choice.
One of these days, I promise I’ll write up my assessment of the presidential candidates and tell you who I’m caucusing for. After all, my vote counts more than yours, and you have a right to know.
As stupid as I felt then—as silly as I feel now for having choked as I did—what I said was—is—true.
I’m moving my jogs to evenings. I am trying to reschedule my days because I’ve other things I want to accomplish in the mornings.
The same day that the New York Times publishes a (not quite) credulous review of the Creation Museum in Petersburg, Kentucky, Jerry Harp explores what it would mean to develop a “theology based on science”.
Never fear, though! It’s yard sale season! Bright and early Saturday morning I’m heading out to discover that other people’s crap is way better than just crap they’re selling: it’s crap I can sell, too! How excited you must be for me!
Reports from an early morning walk.
I am totally going to pull this off.
Do what you want, just be mindful of the consequences, okay?
A brief, congratulatory note.
Democrats win! Hooray!
Justice, Despair, Dissent, Equality
I swear I’m trying to get rid of this melodramatic streak in my writing. It’s laziness, frankly, and I don’t particularly feel like rewriting this now to excise it.
FYI, this post is ostensibly about the October 2006 election, but it’s really about my dismay at the state of current affairs in American politics.
Owls, and a cat courtesy of Margaret Atwood.
Hopefully, this will provide much debate.
Proxy birth announcement.
Not even a snowball’s chance…
Since it only somewhat fits with the theme of this rant… Where a great proportion of the people are suffered to languish in helpless misery, that country must be ill policed, and wretchedly governed: a decent provision for the poor is the true test of civilization.
James Boswell’s Life of Dr. Samuel Johnson
It was eighteen months ago that I left graduate school and went to the job market. Today, finally, I got bought.
The revised proposal and vote.
Always the interviewed, never the hired.
Note: Link is further evidence of the fourth item in this list.
What I’m reading now—little more, little less.
What’s a trite metaphor like you doing in a pathetic place like this?
Best wishes from the sixteenth century.
That globalization is a fact of modern life can be astonishing, and it can be promising, and it can be worrying, and it can be depressing. It is often all of these adjectives all at once because globalization is simply a euphemism for pollution.
As far as years go, it was a cup of concentrated Downy poured too soon into a wash of whites: it left pink stains on nearly everything, but the stains were just unnoticeable enough to make make me question whether or not I ought to replace the clothes.
Merry Christmas!
a Christmas sermon…of sorts
It was Saturday that mom let me in on the family gossip.
parmesan sage turkey…cranberry, cherry, walnut, port wine compote…homemade yeast rolls…chestnut, sage stuffing…pomegranate, grapefruit vinagrette…and other goodies.
It’s a legitimate question whether one can take what’s good from a tradition and not also take the bad from it.
This letter was for a job called “Writing Consultant” in a writing center, called the Writing Studio, at a local small, liberal arts college. (It’s a unique college, one of two nationwide to teach classes in blocks rather than on the -mester.) The job description implied this position was essentially a co-director job. (I heard later that the man who held the job previously felt it was more of a T.A./grader position for Writing Across the Curriculum classes.)
To be lost means to be separated from those we are like—from our family—and it means that we are separated from those who love us. To be lost is to be alienated. To be lost is to be exposed. To be lost is to be at the mercy of those who would harm us. To be lost is to be helpless.
Something tells me that Michelle Duggar never had trouble breast feeding. I wonder what she would say to Sonya Huber?
Many of the applications I send I never hear word about, so now you can play HR director for me. On the merits of the cover letter, would you accept it, reject it, or forget about it? This one was for a job called “Assistant Scoring Director,” and it is unique among all of my applications: I actually was offered this job—then it was pulled from beneath me.
Ah! A job search! The longer it goes, the more it wears down the bones. In an attempt to grow a bit of tissue back, I begin a new series of failed cover letters. Consider their publishing to be my catharsis. Many of the applications I send I never hear word about, so now you can play HR director for me. Would you accept it, reject it, or forget about it?
Welcome to the new Hermits Rock! You can see we’re very different than we used to be.
