...is my favorite line from the movie, "Face Off". I'm just saying. I had one too many cappuccinos, and this little ditty did materialize in my insane brizain. It may not mean anything, but seems rife with possibilities for deconstruction. Piper's Prize Pete Piper Packed an Uzi, Squeezed the trigger,…
It doesn't get any simpler than this. Almost as satisfying as the real thing. And no . . . I don't know the phone number of the "Fresh Sheet" woman.
Last evening, I wasted about 1½ hours working in the basement on some uninteresting but useful titanium accessories that I call Fat Wires on MrTitanium.com. I had a dyslexic moment, and made them slightly wrong. Just wrong enough that I can’t in good conscience sell them. I found this very frustrating. A big waste of time.
This morning I started over. This sort of fine craft allows my mind to wander as I cut, hammer, punch, drill, grind, band-aid, polish, bend, re-polish, and assemble. I reflected on Erich’s post on Fungible time: The principle that time, like money, is commutative in an accounting sense. In brief, time is spent whatever you do, so you should make the best of it.
So I wondered (in between thinking about the imminent Buy Nothing Day and listening to FM blather) why I was so upset at having wasted 1½ hours on honing my craft but getting no product, yet a comparable time wasted playing Doom2 or watching YouTube doesn’t bother me. I quit TV several weeks ago.
Andrew Sullivan declares here that whenever a Pope delares that "even closeted, chaste gay men cannot be priests," he makes himself a legitimate target for the types of jokes recently aired on Italian television and radio.
I know, a catchy title. A little unfair maybe, since there’s nothing particularly titillating in what follows. Or maybe there is, depending on what–what’s the saying?–“pumps yer nads!” But in view of Erich’s post about our newly appointed head of Family Planning, I thought this might be the time to indulge more than a little in a topic rather close to my heart (depending on where one locates said metaphorical organ).
Did you know that the last week of October is national Protection From Pornography Week? Yes, indeed, signed into law by our illustrious president, Mr. Bush back in 2003. I for one had no idea I needed to be protected from it. How reassuring to know that we are being defended from dangers both real and imagined by the ever watchful gaze of our very own homegrown clerics.
We’ve spent tax dollars on this. Here is the link to the official White House proclamation.
Seems innocuous enough, even homey. All that stuff about the destructive effects of porn on children, who can argue?
Has it occurred to anyone throughout the last two decades (beginning, in my opinion, with Ed Meese–anyone remember him?) of the war on pornography that–like alcohol and tobacco–pornography is simply not for children? It seems a ludicrously simple idea to me–it was never intended for them. We manage to have reasonable laws about things not intended for children. We don’t let them drive cars (except at amusement parks, in specially constructed rides), we don’t let …