Crying over spilled milk
The EPA has found a reason to.
The lunatics are running the asylum. I should know.
The EPA has found a reason to.
The lunatics are running the asylum. I should know.
A fascinating glimpse into the pharmaceutical industry.
And evidence that “flip” is not a uniquely Utah Mormon expression, since Derek Low appears to be neither.
And I wonder if this isn’t the real problem with social “justice.” (more…)
So I spent much of this morning looking for some way to get His Majesty to quit glowering and crack a cackle or two. (more…)
Antisemitism in Germany. Santayana must be spinning in his grave. (more…)
I haven’t the guts to read The Huffington Post on a regular basis. (more…)
Which give me hope that manhood is not yet completely dead either.
[From A Personal Record by Joseph Conrad]
When I presented my self to be examined for master the examiner who received me was short, plump, with a round, soft face in gray, fluffy whiskers, and fresh, loquacious lips.
He commenced operations with an easy going “Let’s see. H’m. Suppose you tell me all you know of charter-parties.” He kept it up in that style all through, wandering off in the shape of comment into bits out of his own life, then pulling himself up short and returning to the business in hand. It was very interesting. “What’s your idea of a jury-rudder now?” he queried, suddenly, at the end of an instructive anecdote bearing upon a point of stowage.
I warned him that I had no experience of a lost rudder at sea, and gave him two classical examples of makeshifts out of a text-book. In exchange he described to me a jury-rudder he had invented himself years before, when in command of a three-thousand-ton steamer. It was, I declare, the cleverest contrivance imaginable. “May be of use to you some day,” he concluded. “You will go into steam presently. Everybody goes into steam.”
There he was wrong. I never went into steam—not really. (more…)
I love Fiddler on the Roof, which I recently watched for the umpteenth time while doing my daily physical therapy. (more…)
Charlotte Simmons was uncomfortably like reportage.
Yeah, no kidding. My wife never believes me when I tell her how big the fish was before it got away.
How long must I put up with this calumny? (more…)