Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Alternate Universe BLog

Terri Schiavo, anyone?
Check out the videos here: http://www.terrisfight.net/
Bear-baiting 2005. You think?

Global warming, or a warning from God?
There was a small tornado (F1) in South San Francisco last Sunday. This is an area not known for unwanted meteorological events.

Here kitty.
According to Reuters, some guy in London who was calling his cat back into the house before he went to bed, was instead attacked by a “cat-like creature” the “size of a Labrador.” The police were summoned. A police spokesman said, "One police officer believes they saw a large black cat-like animal approximately the same size as a Labrador dog.” No further sightings have been reported.

How proud his parents must be.
From Reuters:
Craig Crosbie, 24, took just 48 seconds to type out the 160-character message: "The razor-toothed piranhas of the genera Serrasalmus and Pygocentrus are the most ferocious freshwater fish in the world. In reality they seldom attack a human."

He beat the previous record holder by 19 seconds, Guinness World Records said on Tuesday.

Crosbie, who has been texting since the age of 16, sends about 75 messages a day and says the key to fast texting is practice.

"All my friends say that the speed at which I text is quite unbelievable," Crosbie told Reuters.

Skateboarding is not a crime. Texting is not a verb! Now this.
I found this on dailyKOS. It’s from the Associated Press, I believe. The “He” is Rick Santorum.

“He and his wife, Karen, have seven children - including, as Santorum puts it, ‘the one in Heaven.’ Their fourth baby, Gabriel Michael, died in 1996, two hours after an emergency delivery in Karen Santorum's 20th week of pregnancy. The couple took Gabriel's body home to let their three other young children see and hold the baby before burying him….”

Who ARE these people?

Don’t DeLay. Act today!
This is from Drudge: Last Friday, The Chairman of the Health, Education, Labor, and Pension Committee, Mike Enzi (R-Wyoming) requested Terri Schiavo to testify before his congressional committee.

Who ARE these people?

Red Activities in a blue state.
On our recent trip to Sacramento, the wife and I ambled over to Old Sacramento, which is chockablock with museums, hole-in-the-wall antique stores, ice cream parlors, and those machines that squish pennies.

While there, we took in the California Military Museum, a small but very satisfying museum, stuffed to the brim with weaponry, tank and airplane models, and uniforms.

Attendance was sparse, but attendees enthusiastic. Besides the two stray families that wandered in, and quickly out again, the attendees consisted of several men my age, with impressive bellies, talking to each other in rumbling voices about unresolved conflicts of the last century.

There was a docent, an elderly spry gentleman named Jack, who approached the two men by the musket/rifle/semi-automatic weapon display, and asked them if the building were to catch fire, which weapon would they save?

“I’d go for the BAR,” said the taller of the two, without hesitation. (That's short for Browning Automatic Rifle, by the way.)

“That’s a toughie,” said the other.

Jack then drew their attention to the M-1 rifle, serial number 137, and told them that would be his choice, because it was one of the first M-1s ever made.

Later, he talked enthusiastically to the wife and me about the mechanics of machine guns, pointing out the bullet holes in the Russian Maxim captured during the Korean War.

He asked me if I had been in the military. When I said no, he looked disappointed for a moment. Then he brightened and said that he’d loved basic training. He said it was “like Boy Scouts only with cigarettes and beer.”

He also asked us if we watched DEADWOOD on HBO. We told him we didn’t have cable. He said it was a “dreadful show,” but half-heartedly. We both suspect he actually loved it, because it was a western.

“Sacramento used to be just like that,” he told us. That is, lawless, profane, and full of hookers.

If there are any lawless profane backwater towns out there that need cleaning up, I recommend giving Jack a call. He’s in his eighties, sure, but I’ll bet he’d be willing to strap on a six gun and ride. Me, I'll wait back here with the horses.

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