Mark Steyn leads a jacquerie.

On the sweetness of Mormon life–

Your alarm sounds in the dark of the early morning. It’s 5 AM. It’s Saturday. It’s your birthday. (more…)

I’m still here. No surprise there.   (more…)

The lovely one and I were talking last night about the phenomenon where you’re writing a common word and suddenly it looks to you like a word you’ve never seen before, even a word from another language, even not a real word at all. You can’t mentally force yourself to recognize it, though you know you should.

The phrase for this is “jamais vu.” (more…)

Nine out of ten doctors agree, sir. Zubrin’s plan for a Falcon Heavy mission to Mars within the decade are a tonic to the soul. (more…)

The fundies end up having babies out of wedlock because they were never taught about birth control.

Society needs injuries suffered in a fall.

Sweet talk me, sweetheart! If’n your rocket is big enough for a stampede and couple of left over ranches, ah sure am interested.

This call for better enemies is mainly a way to dance on Bin Laden’s grave, which is an approved Junior Ganymede leisure time activity. But the author makes a real point despite himself. Our enemies are pitiable, which in part explains why our response has been pitiable. There has been no occasion to rise to. Of course, rising to the occasion isn’t inevitable–failure is always an option–so I’m not exactly hoping for an occasion either. China can slip quietly in to the demographic night for all of me.

Was apparently quite extensive. (more…)

turns to thoughts of haiku. You know the things I mean. Japanese poetry doohickies, much beloved of the nibs. I just dashed one off–inspiration, what–and the little woman said it practically bared my soul. Now I’m foisting if off on my clamoring public, if foist is the word I mean.

Dash it, dash it all,
I have got mud on my spats.
The spring rain. What ho.

I’m a sucker for this kind of thing. I know its stuff, but I get weepy anyway.

Missionary hero.

Gotta say, the clercs have it coming.

Here in the early years of the twenty-first century, the American elite is a walking disaster and is in every way less capable than its predecessors. It is less in touch with American history and culture, less personally honest, less productive, less forward looking, less effective at and less committed to child rearing, less freedom loving, less sacrificially patriotic and less entrepreneurial than predecessor generations. Its sense of entitlement and snobbery is greater than at any time since the American Revolution; its addiction to privilege is greater than during the Gilded Age and its ability to raise its young to be productive and courageous leaders of society has largely collapsed.

Booyah. (more…)

The book’s main character is a renowned artist with two projects, one mural about Darwinism, another about Christ. And the premise of the book really is whether or not we evolved or emerged from the ooze, in which case nothing matters or whether we walked out of the Garden of Eden in the light of Cherubim and the Flaming Sword, in which case, everything matters.

I hate seeing prominent Saints utter such non sequiturs.

When asked whether the world was created or evolved, my current best answer is Yes.