I have twenty-one years’ worth of email in the archives here. And you would not believe what I had to go through to keep access to it.
Archive for Ventually
That title probably suggests something very obvious to you.
And you would be correct.
Frank Sinatra did it his way; I figure, I might as well do it mine.
It is seemingly de rigueur these days to disparage the economics we learned from Adam Smith, but if you ask me, they’re just jerking us around.
All Facebook is divided into three parts: family matters, social interaction, and conspiracy theories. Today I got one of each.
Two things arrive here in mid-autumn: the bill for the renewal of my current homeowner’s insurance, and suspicious-looking counteroffers from that company’s competitors. It was, of course, always thus, and by “always” I mean “for the 15 years I’ve lived in this one spot.” Once in a while, though, I want to see what the competition is up to.
As seen, or as imagined, from not quite twenty thousand days ago.
Nine questions went through the mill; five of them will appear on the General Election ballot next month.
You ever have one of those days? Today has equaled about three of them.
“Well, it sounds like you’ve been unhappy for a long time.”
“Honey, you have no idea.”
That’s the long-time motto of the Pink Pistols, perhaps the best-known of the gay gun-rights groups.
With the Pistols being merged with Operation Blazing Sword, I thought you might want to hear from the woman now running the show.
A brave man once requested me
To answer questions that are key
Is it to be or not to be
And I replied, “Oh why ask me?”
“Tell me where it hurts,” says the doctor.
That’s how many people have visited this place over the years, though several have actually been here more than once.
In a matter of 21 months, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania went from having two daily newspapers to having none. At the very least, this deserves some sort of discussion.
“During these hard days and hard weeks, everybody always has it bad once in a while. You know, you have a bad time of it, and you always have a friend who says “Hey man, you ain’t got it that bad. Look at that guy.” And you at that guy, and he’s got it worse than you. And it makes you feel better that there’s somebody that’s got it worse than you.
“But think of the last guy. For one minute, think of the last guy. Nobody’s got it worse than that guy. Nobody in the whole world. That guy… he’s so alone in the world that he doesn’t even have a street to lay in for a truck to run him over. He’s out there with nothin’. Nothin’s happenin’ for that cat.”
There are times when I have to remind myself that I’m not the last guy.
No platform is the practice of of preventing someone — either through policy or through protest — from spreading their ideas through a particular event or website. The term is mostly used to refer to rescinding an invitation to someone asked to speak at an event (such as a guest lecture at a college). The concept apparently originates from a policy used by the British National Union of Students to prevent people they disagree with from giving speeches on UK college campuses. The concept is similar to the political action of cordon sanitaire, where a politician or political party is either unconditionally excluded from coalitions or other forms or cooperation, or even completely ignored. “No platform” is typically invoked for issues such as racism, sexism, homophobia, Holocaust denial, and so forth. As what is and is not acceptable by society changes with the times, so do the targets of “no platform”, with 2015 seeing protests of speakers seen as transphobic or Islamophobic who consider themselves progressive as they are feminists or atheists, respectively. No-platforming is, at best, an attempt to prevent a balance fallacy, with protesters refusing to allow tacit endorsement of reactionary views. ~ “No platform,” RationalWiki, as of 8 August 2018.
If “no platform” is your modus operandi, have I got a platform for you!
Once upon a time, a power outage was almost an adventure.
Now it scares the fark out of me. What’s changed?
There are many ways to torture oneself: a feigned asceticism intended to impress the neighbors; maintaining a list of every faux pas you’ve ever committed and reviewing it on a regular bases; watching a whole lot of cable news. Apparently my torment of choice is Yahoo! Answers.
You’ve run a blog for seemingly all your life. Now your life is changed, and not for the better. What to do with that blog?
“The memories of a man in his old age,” sang Pink Floyd, “are the deeds of a man in his prime.” I would aver that sometimes they’re the deeds, or the attitude, of a kid not even imagining manhood yet.
Few phenomena of which I’m aware are capable of instilling as much will to live as the existence of a government which seems to want you to die.
A new book by Jonathan Rauch says that yes, mid-life crises are scary, but that they eventually go away. This might even be true; I know my life improved markedly from 50 to 60, before everything went to hell.
This started out as an attempt to be funny about suicide. Imagine how well that might have worked in the hands of someone with talent.
Then again, in this hard-time age, I’d be hard-pressed to assert that it ever was.
As an old man in his sixties, I can’t imagine life as a tween girl.
“I have to admit it’s getting better,” said Paul; “it’s getting better all the time.”
“Can’t get no worse,” John observed, sotto voce.
I think by now you know how I feel about it.
“Have you had this before?” the doctor asked, pretending to shuffle through the 800 or so pages of my file folder.
“I have,” I said.
“Well, you’ve got it again.”