A Socotra landscape. I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto.
So how do a bunch of primitive little prehistoric ape-men get to an island hundreds of miles out to sea?
Maybe they hitched a ride from someone with a boat? Or maybe the “stone tools” found on Socotra aren’t really tools, but just stones?
Or maybe we just don’t know a lot of things we say we know.
Please don’t mind me posting my favorite hymns fairly often. I’ll post yours, too–all you’ve got to do is ask. Only a few of you ask, but the hymn shop’s open to all.
All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name, sung by the choir at First Plymouth Church in Lincoln, Nebraska.
A lot of people don’t know this, but rats can be wonderful pets. They’re intelligent and affectionate–a good combination. Playful, too. And not hard to care for. What’s not to like?
When I had to bring one of our rats to the vet, she would ride on my shoulder and never jump off. People in the waiting room shied away at first, some with horrified expressions on their faces; but those sessions usually culminated in those very same people petting the rat and saying “kitchy-koo!” and other witticisms.
Be careful! They’ll win you over if you give them half a chance.
The grate Thing abuot Collidge “is” we lern stuff we nevver knowed befour!!
Frinstints, yeasterday i lernt that Brusching yore Teeeth it is Racist!!! Evry Wyte Parson who brusches his Teeeth he “is” “a” Racist!! and aslo “it” is No Good for Peple Of Culler to brusch thare Teeeth ether becose “that” it Is Acting Wyte!!!
Yiu wood be supprized at “all themb” Things thatt turns Out “to Be” Racist!! i amb so Gladd i swiched my Majer to Nothing Studdies becose now i amb lerning all kinda things Thay “are” Racist and yiu woodnt nevver know “It” iff yiu didnt Goto Collidge!!!
Hear are “some Moar” Things that “are” aslo Racist that yiu probly didnt Know abote:;- Sun Screeen, shooe laces,, maiking yore Bed ((evin thuohgh i nevver do that anyhow), Drinking Millk, whaching cat viddios {i dont do that neether!! i alreddy knowed that it is Racist],, Bying Stuff at the Stoar, and aslo that orinj stuff “thay calll” it Tang or som Thing!! i amb so Greatfull to Nothing Studdies becose thay teached me that!!!
I cant hardly Whaite untill i Gradurate and then get a Mastres Deeegree and than a PhuD and than I can “be” “a” Prefesser of Nothing Studdies!!!
Requested by Joshua, When I Survey the Wondrous Cross, sung by the King’s College Choir, Cambridge.
They sound this hymn often on the bells, across the street at St. Francis’ Cathedral–and now I know what hymn it is. Thanks, Joshua.
Hey, boys ‘n’ girls! Oops, sorry–shoulda said “purple penguins,” ’cause there’s like 50 different genders. Anyway–wanna *Save The Planet*? Of course you do!
The perky publicist has invited me to review a book by a sage, all of 17 years old, on how to “stop catastrophic damages to the place we all call home.” How to “stop” it, eh? Ya mean, like hitting the “off” switch?
I wonder if we can guess where this precious little tyke is coming from. Hmm… Here’s a chapter called “Bye, Bye Big Business.” It’s about how “major corporations” stop Climbit Change legislation and “how young people can prevent this from happening.” Doubtless by electing Far Left Crazy Democrats and enacting the Green New Deal… just as soon as the Constitution is repealed.
I hope it goes without saying that I don’t mean for this to be insulting to teenagers in general. I really like their company, they’re good for me. I love it that a few teens have joined this blog, and I hope more will follow.
But having been a 17-year-old myself, I think I can state with perfect confidence that it would have been the height of folly to take me, at that age, for any kind of public policy adviser. So easy to be taken for a ride by one’s college professors, et al. And when adults praise you, it goes right to your head. Just tell us we’re really smart, and we’ll eat out of your hand. Been there, done that.
I’m not going to give this kid’s name, in hopes that he’ll grow out of this, nor the title of the book, because I don’t want anyone to blame me if they buy it.
All you need to know about “Climate Science” is that Far Left Crazy sees it as their ticket to a global government.
This is Good Friday, and our blog will observe it by not covering any of the nooze today. Hence the video of the baby iguana eating watercress. Aren’t they pretty little things? God’s stuff is just so good.
I’d love to raise a baby iguana again. If you do it right–and it’s easy to do it right–you wind up with a wonderful pet. If you do it wrong, you wind up with this big mean lizard who wants to bite you. A friend of mine had an iguana who bit him on the tongue. Yes, he was showing off by sticking his tongue out. Teenage boys do things like that. And the iguana bit off the tip of it. Yowch! Served him right.
But my iguana was raised right, and he never bit anybody. And if he could have purred while he sat on your lap, he would have.
I’m no one’s idea of a car buff. I can’t tell one model from another. I’ve never bought a record with a song about cars on it, despite having grown up in the 1950s.
But my car’s still in the shop today, and that has begun to make me antsy. A car is something you use in everyday life and it feels kind of creepy when you haven’t got one. You can’t go anywhere unless someone else takes you. It makes a dent in your independence.
All right, if you listen to NPR and virtue-signal by pedaling your bike to Whole Foods, bully for you–where do we put the statue? But for the rest of us–well, the car played a huge role in the creation of the middle class, and we’re not ready to sacrifice it to your Green New Deal. So go AOC yourselves.
Already by 1992, Michael Crichton warned us that the line between fact and fiction was getting rather blurry.
It’s been done on purpose, by wicked and ungodly people, many of whom are not quite sane. The poison brewed in our colleges and universities always seeps out into the rest of our society, tainting it, then maiming it.
“Educating” ourselves to death… but I guess it depends on what “is” is.
This hymn goes well back into the Middle Ages, with Bach putting the finishing touches on the melody as we know it today: O Sacred Head, Now Wounded. Sung by the Altar of Praise Chorale.
Our seventh-grade class sang this as part of our Easter concert, back when America was still America.