Some of us just finished watching the first Presidential debate, and we’re probably all still shell-shocked. The commentators are still lobbing rounds at each other, but I’ll emerge from my foxhole long enough to shoot a bulletin back from the trenches, for the benefit of those wiser souls who spent time watching Monday Night Football.
Well, it was entertaining; I’ll grant that. (more…)
I don’t generally bother to get involved in whatever the current trending national outrage phenomenon happens to be. Our country loves to be outraged, so there’s always something different, and it’s usually petty. So when a random sports guy did something to protest something else, I just let it pass by unnoticed. After all, he’s probably just another overpaid egoist who does something I’ll never care about for a living.
So I ignored the furor, the counter-furor, the anti-furor furor, and the inevitable Fuehrer comparison — until someone mentioned history, in particular military history. The points on the ends of my ears stood upright and I suddenly took notice. (more…)
This is what comes of me reading John Gould books: I get the urge to tell stories, and since everyone in breathing distance knows the warning signs by now, there’s nobody left near enough to tell them to without hollering, and my mother brought me up not to raise my voice. (more…)
A lovely lady of my acquaintance once asked me how many of those little pine trees you’d have to hang in the cellar to hide the scent of a corpse. Since I was visiting without a chaperone at the time, that question got me to thinking, and once I’d finished my slice of apple pie I thanked her cordially for a fine meal and made my excuses without tasting her mince. I’m mostly sure she was just making conversation, but I didn’t reach my present advanced age by taking needless risks.
Those pine trees are some powerful, it’s true, but my experience is they just cover things up, burying them in the olfactory noise (if there is such a thing). They hide the lesser sins, (more…)