What a way to start the month....

.

So today, between Conference sessions, I ran to the store to get milk for the Big O. Leaving the parking lot, I managed to hit one of those blue mailboxes. I couldn't figure out how it happened, but when the cops showed up to investigate, they noticed that my back end was crushed--apparently, without my noticing, some large truck or SUV nailed the back of the Taurus and knocked me into the mailbox. They said that's not unusual in rearends, to only notice the damage happening that you can see.

This alone would have been bad omen enough for a new month, but what happened next was truly horrible. Even though it's all seared into my mind, I can't quite believe it yet. Perhaps tomorrow I can blog more seriously about this, but for now, here's simply what happened:

The mailbox, which was apparently bolted to the ground by 3,000-year-old bolts, snapped off the sidewalk and flew flew away from me--and directly towards two little blonde girls giving away kittens. I screamed.

Miraculously, it missed both of them, landing between instead. It was unreal--like something out of Looney Toons--except for the kitten-shaped blood marks on the side of the Rite-Aid. More like Happy Tree Friends I suppose. All six of them were rendered into mashed little furry bone bags. That description sounds funny. But it wasn't funny. Both girls cried the whole time I was there.

The girls were able to tell the cops that the thing that hit me was green, so they're looking for it now, I guess. I'm at my parents, waiting for them to call.

C'est l'Avril?

Oh, I hope not.

Yes, it could have been much, much worse.

But I still hope it gets better from here....

Making Edgy Rich

.

I followed a series of links from Stupid's blog and discovered that, apparently, BlogShares follows blogs even if the blog's author is not registered. Thus, the once-named Tehachapiltdownman is worth some decent money and has helped make Edgy Killer Bunny quite wealthy indeed--his shares in Tehachapiltdownman have gone up about 10,000% since his purchase, if my math is right. Bet it makes the rest of you wish you'd gotten in early as well.

Hearstily speaking

.

Lady Steed and I went to Hearst Castle on Monday and bathed in the richness and opulence and about six inches of rain. We watched an IMAX film on the building of Hearst Castle, which was a shame. Alternating with that film, they ought to be showing Citizen Kane. Maybe I would finally understand why it is, apparently, the greatest film ever (ever) if I could see it so large that I could picnic in one of Orson Welles's pores. In the meantime, my vote still goes to Vertigo.

Anyway, the house was lovely, if a bit much for my tastes. Although I suppose if I had household staff, I might own a dog as well.

The castle costs the state $11 million a year to keep it up--which explains the hefty cost of a visit. To build and furnish it only cost Hearst $10 million dollars ("only").

I'll admit I was disappointed by how little of the artwork we saw wowzahed me. I had anticipated being in a romantic flurry of the beautiful and the sublime, but only a couple pieces really struck me--one being a Venus by Canova which was thought lost after some guy named Willson bought it and disappeared. Willson, it ends up, was Hearst's father-in-law. The statue, it ends up, was next to the poker table.

When visiting Hearst Castle, you are extremely limited as to where you can go and what you can see and how dry you can stay. I suppose the solution is for me to go back to school, take a degree in art history, and become an employee of the California parks department.

One thing we also did not see was William Randolph Hearst's bones. They are in Colma, with a lot of other dead people's bones. Before we got married, Lady Steed and I spent a day taking cemetery pictures in Colma, but I don't recall whether we saw Hearst's private mausoleum or not. Anyway, wish you were here.

Signed,

Theric

Itinerant Svither

.

Lady Steed and I are away from home this week, and, well, nothing lends itself to metaphor like traveling.

Like many things on The List, I have never read Everyman--at least not in its entirety. Or at least not that I recall. But I don't really recall that much anyway. And that's not the point. The point is that Everyman is about as archetypal as you can get when looking back at the great religious traveling metaphors and so I will be plundering it.

(Curiously, I intended to write a post on the importance of the public domain yesterday and how current copyright law's stinginess is terrible for intellectual discourse, but didn't get to it. Consider this, in addition to a scintillating metaphor, a dry run at that as well.)





was living his regular life, walking to and fro, neglecting his God in lieu of his work, neglecting his work in lieu of his family, neglecting his family in lieu of his ego, neglecting his ego with nothing like frequency.

Enter Death.

Death: THERIC.

Theric: I'm busy.

Death: LOOK AT ME.

Theric: (Sighs.) What? (Turns to looks.) Oh. Shoot.

Death: NO, ANEURYSM.

Theric: So I wasn't being irrational when I worried about dropping dead of one of those things.

Death: NO.

Theric: Figures. (Hits "Save" on the computer.) Well, how much time have I got?

Death: TIME?

Theric: Yeah, you know, time. That stuff we got to do the stuff we got to do before you show up.

Death: AH, THAT TIME. (Chuckles.) I AM HERE, AREN'T I?

Theric: Mm. I see. Look, I hope this doesn't sound shallow, but would you be interested in being profiled on my blog? It might take a little while to make it right but I'm sure that y---

Death: IF I FELL PREY TO EACH SUCH PETTY REQUEST, THE WORLD WOULD BE OVERRUN WITH BLOGGING!

Theric: The world already is overrun with blogging.

Death: THE WORLD WOULD BE MORE OVERRUN WITH BLOGGING!

Theric: I dunno. Overrun is overrun. It seems kind of like "unique" to me--can something really be more overrun?

Death: SILENCE!

Theric: Sorry. I think I'd heard you like quiet.

Death: YES.

Theric: Right.

Death: COME.

Theric: Right. Um. Shoot.

Death: ANEURYSM.

Theric: I know, I know. I'm just thinking.

Death: THINK ON THE WAY.

Theric: On the way, right, right. Um. I. Um. Hey! Say, Death?

Death: YES?

Theric: Are you good company?

Death: COMPANY?

Theric: Yeah, so myrie a compaignye and so forth?

Death: I SHOULD SAY NOT.

Theric: Ah, pity, pity. Say, could I bring someone with me? Someone who would not forsake me to his lyues ende in the waye of good company and so forth.

Death: YOU TALK FUNNY.

Theric: Writer.

Death: AH.

Theric: Anyway, what do you say?

Death: VERY WELL. BUT MAKE IT QUICK. I HAVE ONE HUNDRED AND THREE PEOPLE TO PICK UP THIS MINUTE.

Theric: Are you serious? Wow. Anyway, I'm on it.

And so Theric logged into his Gmail account to see who was online and might be willing to take this journey with him.

Fortunately, luck was with Theric. Little green circles were next to Luck, Chums, Obscene Wealth and Good Works. He decided to pretend to be casual and greeted each with a "Hey." Four little chat boxes popped up on his screen.

Like normal, Obscene Wealth ignored him, but the other three were quick to reply.

Then, like petrified centuries being dragged over the dried vertebrae of a long-dead jackal, Theric heard Death tapping his fingers on his scythe. So he got to the point quickly, holding these conversations simultaneously:

Theric:Hey.
Luck: Wassup?
Theric: Doing anything?
Luck: Nothing that can't be set aside for you.
Theric: Sweet. Look, I'm about to die of an aneurysm and--
Luck: Die?
Theric: Yeah, Death's here right now and--
Luck: Dude, sorry. Me and Death....noway.
Theric: He said I could take somebody along with me!
Luck: I don't travel with Death. Nothing personal.
Theric: It's personal to me.
Luck did not receive your message.
* * * * *
Theric: Hey.
Chums: Hey.
Theric: I need a favor.
Chums: You're there for me, I'm there for you.
Theric: Death's taking me. He says I can take someone with me. You doing anything?
Chums: Death? Can I come back?
Theric: I'll check.
He says NO.
Chums: Hmm.
Theric: He says I won't be coming back either, though.
Chums: *thinking*
Theric: What do you say?
Chums: In fayth I wyll not come there If deth were the messenger For no man that is lyuynge to daye I wyll not go that loth iournaye. Not for the fader that bygate me.
Theric: What?
Chums: Sorry--typing too fast.
Point was I can't make it. Not today.
Theric: I bet Master Fob would come with me.
Chums: Then ask him.
Theric: He's not online.
Chums did not receive your message.
Theric: Crap.
* * * * *
Theric: Hey.
Good Works: And I remember well when you helped your grandfather feed the cows in those cold winter mornings.
Theric: Really? Thanks. Hey, I got a favor to ask.
Good Works: Inasmuch as you have done it unto me, and so forth.
Theric: Right. Great.
Look, Death is here with me and he says I can take someone with me.
Good Works: True. He's right about that. Who are you going to take?
Theric: I'm on with you and Chums and Luck right now.
Good Works: Luck? No kidding?
Theric: Yeah, why do y
Nevermind, he just left.
Good Works: I knew it. Luck isn't quite like Chums or me.
Theric: Will you come?
Good Works: You know, I would love to. I really would. But I've been sick lately. In fact, I can't remember the last time we even talked.
Theric: It has been too long....
Good Works: If only you could help me, I would go.
Theric: Hmm.
Got it. What if I log into PayPal right now and give whatever's in there to the Humanitarian Fund?
Good Works: Try it.
Theric: Okay, I'm on it.
There goes Chums....
Man this Death guy's all over me!
Good Works: He's not as patient as some of us.
Theric: I'll say....
It's done.
Good Works: I can tell. I will go.
Theric: Thanks. Meet me here.
Good Works: Yes.
Theric: Hooray!
Good Works did not receive your message.

Immediately Good Works arrived. She suggested Theric do a bit of praying before they left. "Oh yeah," said Theric.

Anyway, to make a long story only a little longer, Theric prayed. And, knowing he was about to meet the prayee in a few minutes, he thought a little more about what exactly he meant as he formed the words. And as he thought about those words, he realized that too often had he frittered words, words which were among the greatest gifts the prayee had given him.

Theric was the sort to define his life by the words that filled it. And now, as he prayed, he realized that his pie chart of words had way too big a slice of Touting Theric and way too small a slice of Supporting Others.

Theric cracked his eyes and peeked at Good Works. She was obviously still unwell, $91.46 or no $91.46. He thought of how his words could have made her strong. How she was the only one who was willing to make this journey with him yet he had done so little for her.

Theric quickly closed his prayer, stood, and walked to her. He got under her shoulder, put his arm around her waist and helped her walk to the door. Death slipped ahead and gestured to a path that led from the door and disappeared into the unfathomable distance.

Good Works smiled and Theric took courage.

Good Works: I will be fine, Theric.

Theric: No I--

Good Works: Theric, shush. I will be fine. But everyone is dying, everyday. All lives are but journeys to a single end. If now, at this moment, you find yourself strong enough to carry another, then you are strong enough to carry another each day along the journey. (Good Works gestures out the door and down the path.) Along that road are many who will need help to make the journey--some may even need to be carried. Will you help them?

Theric: Of course, but--

Good Works: Theric, no. Will you help them?

(Beat.)

Theric: Yes.

Good Works: Good. Now, do you remember what I said in our chat?

Theric: In our chat?

Good Works: About the least of these?

Theric: Yes.

Good Works: Good. And I wasn't speaking of myself, you know.

Theric: I know.

Good Works: Good. So go, and do, (Beat.) and become.

Theric: I will.

(Good Works smiles, and exits.)

Theric: I hope.

Death: IT IS A LONG JOURNEY. WE HAVE FAR TO TRAVEL.

Theric: I'm glad.

Exeunt

Last Week's Svithe

Another problem solved, courtesy of Thmazing

.

Have you ever, fellow laptop owners, had that awful experience where your battery crashes? Have you? Ha ha! Loser! Not me!

But not to worry! I, Thmazing, have decided to bring my patented noCrash technology to my blog-reading public. Yes, this technology is mine, but I am "sharing" it--because I am a good person to whom you should show proper obeisance. Especially after you send me your $19.95 (US) and experience the joys of noCrash for yourself.

Of course, greedy, hatemongering profiteers would kill for full details, but I trust you because you trust me and I will give you a glimpse into the science behind this genius technology that will change your life forever.

You, of course, being an online person, have had the unfortunate experience of a blazing fast connection that, to put it kindly, was simply too blazing fast. The clever new post from your favorite blogger went speeding past so fast you only caught the witty epigram. The Flash animation you've been hearing about for weeks moves so quickly on your broadband connection it appeared to be nothing more than a blur of angry color. The Google search necessary for completion of your doctorate returned so many results so quickly your motherboard melted.

Modern technology is wonderful, of course, but this unconstrained speed is ruining lives.

noCrash started out as an attempt to solve this ubiquitous problem. I, Thmazing, invented a way to "brake" the broadband process and slow down the Internet to safe and enjoyable speeds. This alone would have been enough to win me a place in the hearts of the unwashed millions. But I, being Thmazing, was not content to stop there.

The patented noCrash braking process, by slowing down the Internet, released massive amounts of energy. I used this to heat local soup kitchens for a few months until it occurred to me that there was a better use for this previously untapped energy source.

Within the week I had connected my newly named noCrash brakes to my laptop's battery and voila! a never dying battery!

Here's how the process works on the consumer end:

Within the lifetime of the battery, the user, must access the Internet. Even if the user does not need the Internet, it is sensible to log on and just let it sit--noCrash, though its patented self-surfing-and-braking process, will surf the web, braking to reasonable speeds as it goes, and use that braked energy to keep the laptop battery at full change.

Now, some people, notably Stefan over on the Nobel committee, have called noCrash a "perpetual motion system." At the risk of false modesty, may I now dispel that notion. noCrash is not a true perpetual motion machine. At least, as far I know. Come to think of it, it very well may be a perpetual motion system. Huh.

Anyway, visit noCrash now and enter the promotional code thmusingsfan4ever and receive $5 (US) off the already low low price of $19.95.

This offer won't last forever! Act now!

Wonderful, wonderful wifi

.

Here I am. Sitting.

On my lap is a small, lightweight computer.

Some guy came into my classroom one day and gave it to me. He said, "Here."

And now it is magically talking to you.

Now, normally, this magic is accomplished through the crafty use of metal and plastic things called "wires." Not today.

Today, no "wires." Today, just magic unaided.

It's amazing.

It's beautiful.

It makes my wife want me.

(Or maybe she just meant the wifi--I'm not sure.)

But, whichever, it is wonderful.

Wonderful, wonderful wifi.

Sigh....

All of life should be so lovely.

Donne's biggest faux fan

.

I claim to be a big John Donne fan. His conceits, I say, are some of the best conceits ever put to paper. But I did not realize that the original name of Melyngoch's blog was referencing a Donne poem. And when I took the CSET last Saturday, there were two Donne questions referencing five poems--none of which I had ever read before. (This is how I finally learned what Mel was referencing.)

I am a big Alexander Pope fan. I haven't read Pope in, gosh, eight years.

I am a big Shakespeare fan. I haven't read anything by the ole Bard in at least three years.

All this not reading is killing me. Fortunately I'm a pretty clever person, and on the CSET I was able to make some reasonable stabs at the questions. But I must admit I did not realize that to teach California high schoolers I would have to become expert in the literature of the Caribbean. I doubt I got that question right.

So! After I finish my current stack of books, I suppose I must replenish it with

a) dead British guys

b) living Caribbean folk

c) other stuff that will make people think I'm smart

(eg, the current Donne poem Mel is quoting).

Suggestions?

Taxes

.

The evidence would suggest I am smarter than the online tax service.

That can't be right, can it?

I mean--at this moment I am trying to type while the fingers on my left hand are tied together with used dental floss!

April 27th, a Thursday

.

If:

We came to Provo for Brother Steed's BYU graduation

and If:

We needed a place to stay for two nights (or three or four or)

and If:

We wanted to hang out with cool people while revisiting all our favorite Utah Valley restaurants

and If:

We wanted to reacquaint ourselves / acquaint ourselves with local friends

and If:

This all had to happen squeezed in between all sorts of graduation and Brass Clan-related stuff

Then:

What would you say?

LDotFMotNYl: Deleted Scenes (5)

.

(Note: this is the fifth in a series of deleted letters from the Last Day of the First Month of the New Year Letter. Visit the previous deleted scenes here: 1, 2, 3, 4.)

.


While Parents Busy, Big O Joins Exclusive Club

Since we last reported a year ago, Lady Steed has conquered the Relief Society, as she compiled reports on sisterly diligence, and the Young Women program, as she wrangled twelve-year-old Beehives into all sorts of upstanding behavior, including paying attention for as long as forty-three seconds.

Theric meanwhile, fell just short of the Mormon Secretarial Trifecta when he was never called as secretary of the Sunday School. He did serve as executive secretary and as secretary of the elders quorum which, in retrospect, was probably enough.

While his parents were distracted with these responsibilities, the Big O passed the eighteen-month mark and joined the Nursery. No more hanging around on the outside looking in! Now he too could chase bubbles and color pictures of Jesus and play with that awesome circus train! And the best part? Mom and Dad aren'’t eligible for membership. Priceless.

Commentary

I didn't even want to write this one, to be honest. I did want to talk about O's excitement to go to Nursery, yes, but not the rest.

And he was excited. Weeks and weeks before he hit that magic number 18, he would walk over to the Nursery and look in at all the kids having a good time. Oh, how he wanted to go! And he has loved Nursery too. Just loved it.

Some of the family letters we receive from friends include mention of how they have been serving in their congregations, and Lady Steed and I find that information interesting, but I always feel like, if I ever tell anyone anything about callings I have or have had, that I am somehow boasting--no matter the calling, it feels like boasting.

Of course, that's absurd. No one in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints can reasonably assume that a calling--no matter how high and mighty-seeming (or base and lowly-seeming)--is ever something that can be boasted of. He whom the Lord calls, he qualifies. In other words, any idiot can do any thing if God's on his side.

But still I remain self-conscious. So I insisted this one go.

Besides, the whole country club conceit wasn't really coming off right....

On krankzinnigheid

.

One of the many names I call myself is The Baizzerist. The name suggests that there are unlimited and strange manifestations which I, Theric, may take. I can be anything at any moment--in particular when committing myself to print.

Some of the comments from some of yesterday's posts made me realize that the strangeness I entertain, from time to time, has not made many recent appearances on Thmusings. This is fine. If I stay strange too long, readership starts to drop off.

And besides, I have reason to suspect I may come off strange now and then anyway. This isn't a problem, of course, but it is important that I prove myself a member of the community--not someone desperate and aching to separate myself therefrom.

Community is good.

Just ask the inside of my head.

(That was a joke.)

Tutorial

.

Since some folks have asked how I make "those cool links," I have decided to share the trick. Share the wealth, et cetera. I'm very egalitarian.

Step one, of course, is to be in HTML mode when creating a new post. I have Blogger set up so that's all I see, but you may have it set up with two tabs and you get to choose between them. Pick HTML.

Start typing your post. When you get to a spot when you need a clever aside or darling picture or something unique that you cannot find using Google Image, create it in Paint. I recommend setting image attributes to, say, 450 pixels square.




Then if your comment is text only, simply make a text box and type it in (pictured is 90-point type).



At this point, save the picture as a JPEG (Paint's default is bitmaps, which Blogger rejects; Adobe programs require you to be more clever--saving as a copy or somesuch). Go to your blog and upload the picture just as if it were to be embedded in your post.



Now look at this:



Now take the pink part and put it in front of where you want to link from and the green behind, like so. (Delete the rest.)

I had wanted to do this for a long time. Now I know how. And now you know how too.

Use it well.

Driving to Crazytown: Are we there yet?

.

According to Judith van der Bunt,

Vervolgens zal een psychopathologische benadering uit moeten wijzen of het personage Lin aan een borderline-stoornis lijdt. Bij deze benadering zal worden uitgegaan van het heden ten dage vigerende classificatiesysteem, de Diagnostic and Statistical Manual-IV van persoonlijkheidsstoornissen zoals beschreven in Handboek psychopathologie van Vandereycken e.a. Het doel van het onderzoek is hiermee te komen tot een adequate beschrijving van Lins gefaseerde krankzinnigheid.

I'm gonna call that a 'yes.'

Original poetry for your viewing pleasure

.

Mary had a little lamb
little lamb
little lamb

Mary had a little lamb whose fleece was white as
snow


* * * * *


Little boy blue
come
blow your horn

The cow's in the meadow
The sheep, the front lawn

You suck


* * * * *


Sing us a song
You're the piano man
Sing us a song
tonight

'cause we're all in the mood
for a melody

and you've got us
feeling
a
l
r
i
g
h
t


* * * * *


Everybody dance
now.

Uh.

Svithe Five: Svithes Alive!

.

I love me a good portmanteau. Such is the word svithe: a blending of seven and tithe. And if a tithe is the tenth given to God, then a svithe is the seventh given to God.

I did not make up this idea; I took it from the Sabbath--the one day in seven dedicated to God. The properly observed Sabbath would be a svithe.

In other news, I have an addictive personality. I don't say this to warn you against meeting me in person lest you lose control of yourself and lock me in your backwoods cabin in order to enjoy scintillating conversation the rest of your life. No, what I mean is that I tend towards addiction. (As if I didn't have enough reasons already not to try heroin just one time.) I will often spend too much time doing my current fancy at the expense of more important things.

I maybe might just maybe be addicted to blogging.

Part of my redemption is this svithing. Every Sunday I write a post that is intended to be godly. The idea being that I may do some good somehow someday for someone. Certainly the svithes a have better chance than posts about poop.

Sometimes I will not have much to say, but whenever I can be online on a Sunday, I will svithe.

I don't have specific goals for my svithing. I doubt that svithing will ever become a big movement or anything. I don't even know that those I write will do anyone any good. But I will try to create things that are, at least occasionally, virtuous, lovely, of good report, or praiseworthy.

The problem of course is that I am one person. What if more people would, now and then, write something the only purpose of which was to spread faith and beauty? Or to ask questions of eternal import? Or to spread heart-wrenching but patently false stories about baby angels?

I am not trying to get all my friends to svithe. I am not trying to get the word svithe in the dictionary. I am trying very hard to keep my ego out of this. But I do suggest that we all take a moment and consider how we can use these forums we have been given to improve the world.

The implication I am inadvertently making is that all posts by all bloggers before this moment have been at best worldly and at worst base and evil. I don't mean to make this implication. If the blogs I followed did not provide my life with some beauty, I would not follow them (my addiction, however, might). What I am doing is making a distinction and suggesting an occasional aim at thoughts celestial. It may take many forms. It may be a witness or testimony, sure, but it may also be lists of unanswered questions that weigh on the mind, a tally of hopes and fears, a desperate cry for understanding from beyond, a simple statement of heartfelt fact.

Or none of these. Again: I am not trying to start a movement.

I will svithe: it feels like the right thing for me to do.

I just want to make clear that I have not trademarked the idea.

I wouldn't be a good Mormon if I didn't have proselytory dreams for this forum, but ultimately, that is not its purpose. Ultimately, I just want to add to the community and provide something of worth for my fellow travelers as we hurtle through space to our destiny.

And Lord knows I could use some help.

Last week's svithe.

Note: Lady Steed has been helping me try to put together a second blog wherein I will place copies of the svithes I write. They will still appear here, but they will also be there. It's still under construction, but someday it will be up. Thanks to JB who says it looks nice. Anyone else interested in seeing it as it is now may surely to do: Thmazing's Svithes.

Time with Dad's time with Dad

.

The Big O and I went up to Tehachapi last night and stayed with Papa (my Dad). No one else was there, only us three.

I sat on the floor of the living room and watched O play with my father. They were playing with the Big O's Brio trains. Together they laid track and together they ran trains. I played some too, but mostly I watched.

The sight gave me a strange sense of ... history? family? time?

I'm not sure.

Among the thoughts passed through my mind was this one:

That is not my father; that is me. This is not me; this is O. That is not O; that is some as yet unknown person whom we all will love....

As we drove up to Tehachapi, I was feeling tired enough that I considered arriving; saying, "Hi, Dad"; then excusing us to bed. But no. He needed time with his grandson.

Often my father and I have little to say. We are not unfriendly or anything, just without much to say. But now I have a new way of viewing our relationship. There on the carpet we sat, three oldest sons. Once I was the two-year-old. Now I am the young father. How have my father's feelings for me changed since I was the two-year-old and he was the young father?

I don't know, but I finally begin to see how he felt for me, how he feels for me now. I am starting to understand why things I did hurt him. And I have a strengthened desire to have the touchpoints of our relationship be founded in love.

In part, I suppose, to create a karma spring that will bless the Big O and I as we age apart.

So that we may age together.

Family forever.

Today is the day for the wearing o' no green

.

(Don't quote me facts. I'm not having it.)

Oh, you heathen persecutors! Oh, you who have taken it upon yourselves to punish the innocent of any crime, for a slight so slight as to be absurd.

You who came to America in search of freedom and food only to then inflict your cruel traditions upon a once-kind populace.

Your paincentric practices have spread through this nation like a cancer to the point where this day, once a holy day, has become one of fear and terror for all those not of your faith.

Why should we be paralyzed by fear? Why should we cow to your unholy and abominable pinching? Why should men and women of faith be forbidden from eschewing certain colors--or risk corporal punishment?

Oh, the horror.

In solidarity with the persecuted, today I wear neither green nor orange.

On this, and every other St. Patrick's Day.

Today is the day for the wearing o' no green

.

(Don't quote facts to me, I won't have it.)

Oh, you heathen vigilantes, persecuting your Protestant brethren on this once holy day! You come to America for freedom and food and what do you do?

You create a cult of cruelty, pinching those who disavow themselves from your religious propensities by so simple a statement as boycotting a color! How does this hurt you? Why should they not be allowed to wear whatever color they please? By what right do you inflict them for their religious choices?

Oh, you make me sick.

Today I wear neither green nor orange.

Don't you dare call it "proof"

.

from Slate:

How African Are You?
What genealogical testing can't tell you.
By John Hawks
Updated Wednesday, March 15, 2006, at 1:43 PM ET

...

Many amateur genealogists are interested in whether they might have a Cherokee ancestor, for example. And for some people, admixture tests can give a relatively accurate answer about Native-American ancestry. But other people, including Greeks and Ashkenazi Jews, may have "Native American affinity," according to the tests, even if they and their ancestors have never been to America. As far as anthropologists know, there were no lost tribes connecting Greeks, Jews, and ancient Americans. So, maybe this "Native American affinity" reflects the scattering of alleles by prehistoric Asian nomads to the ancestors of Greeks and Jews as well as to American Indians.

...

And then again, maybe not.

I am against against against feeling that religious beliefs must be confirmed by science to gain validity, but I thought this was interesting.

Eleven's enough

.

One is one.

Two is too few.

Three is enough.

Four is too many.

Five is too many.

Six is too few.

Seven is enough.

Eight is enough.

Nine is too many.

Ten is too few.