I sympathize with this cat. I know how hard it is to catch fish, even with a rod and reel. But this challenge is just too much, despite the cat’s valiant and persistent efforts. I suppose one could saw a hole in the ice for Kitty, but somehow there’s something wrong with that idea.
The good news is that the experts have recovered almost all our data and we are back in one piece. The bad news is that we got lost again coming home and just about a whole day is up the spout.
The route to this data recovery place is quite complex, and it’s really easy to miss a turn or two when you’re in unfamiliar surroundings in heavy traffic, much of which consists of aspiring kamikaze pilots.
The process of putting the data back into our computer, as the data recovery man explained it, is a project that, for sheer ornery complication, is somewhere on the order of taking a census of all the ant-hills in our neighborhood. A minute or two into his explanation, my brain was feverishly seeking a way out of my cranium. Patty says she understood it.
We did manage to avoid those tricky mountain roads today, but for all our efforts to follow the directions to a T, we still wound up with an extra ten miles’ wandering through parts unknown. Patty says it wasn’t quite as bad as the first time, but you could’ve fooled me.
One cherished cigar later, and I’m looking forward to my supper, a nap, and enough rest to start writing coherently again. I’ll have a lot of work to make up tomorrow, including, somehow, a Newswithviews column. All I really want to do is get back to writing up the new set of chapters of my book.
As hell rides go, this one wasn’t much, compared to some of the examples cited in your comments: see Phoebe’s and Linda’s, earlier today. But it was certainly enough for me.
Whooooooaaaaa….!
Well, they tell us they’ve made “a good recovery” of data from our busted hard drive, so we’ve got to go back up the mountain today to get it. I admit I selected the photo above for dramatic effect. Our destination, New Jersey’s Watchung Mountains, offer no opportunity to drive right off a cliff. Just high, twisty, narrow roads frequented by speeding dump trucks loaded to capacity with stone and chunks of concrete so that they couldn’t possibly stop in time to avoid an accident, driven by persons fanatically devoted to tailgating… [pause for hyperventilating]
I don’t know how long that’ll take, or how much new material I’ll have time to post today. But if you’re new here, please feel free to browse among the blog archives–you’re bound to find something that’ll amuse you.
This is a beautiful a capella rendition of O, God Our Help in Ages Past–and would you believe we used to sing this in assembly at high school? It’s true. And then along came the Supreme Court with its amazing discovering that what the Constitution really meant all along was that Christianity may never be expressed in public–and we see with what result. God forgive us and defend us, and bring us back to our senses.
Hands are highly overrated. True, we’d be stuck without them, but only because we’ve grown so used to having them. But here’s a cat, equipped only with paws, claws, and an idea, tackling a cupboard. He doesn’t need hands.
You wanna know what happened to that Indus Valley civilization? Betcha the cats got it.
I’ve never read James Joyce’s Ulysses. I’m not big on Serious Mainstream Literature. In fact, I’m downright microscopic on it. Every time I read something about it, the adjective “modernist” comes up. To me, that’s a synonym for “crappy.”
Besides, look how thick it is. Not being immortal, I doubt I want to invest that much time in a book that doesn’t spark my interest.
So today I was reading the last story in my Penguin edition of Lord Emsworth Acts for the Best by P.G. Wodehouse, and then went on to the blurbs for other Penguin books. And at the top of the list was Ulysses.
This is what the blurb actually says: “A modernist classic… an imperishable monument to the human condition.”
But this is how my eye read it: “an impenetrable monument.” Oops.
Well, a lot of readers, whose comments I have consulted, have found it to be exactly that: impenetrable. Having little hope of breaking in where they have failed, I’ve decided what I really need is another collection of Wodehouse’s Blandings stories featuring Lord Emsworth, whose mind can’t penetrate anything.
I wonder if he ever read Ulysses. Maybe that’s what happened to him.
Well, here we go again with the “pro-choice” crowd taking away your choices. This time it’s the management of the Orpheum Theater in Memphis, Tennessee, dropping the corny classic Gone With the Wind from its summer movies series because it’s supposedly “insensitive to a large segment of the population.” (http://wreg.com/2017/08/25/orpheum-theater-wont-show-gone-with-the-wind-calling-film-insensitive/)
Remember, “pro-choice” means “no choice.”
Most of the people living in Memphis are black. So what? This movie has been shown at this theater for many years, decades, even, without anyone complaining. Now all of a sudden it’s a problem? Now it’s offensive? Why now, and not twenty years ago, or ten, or five?
I’ve seen Gone with the Wind. It’s gorgeously filmed schlock, with an ending ripped off of Thackeray’s Barry Lyndon, published in 1844. Why anyone should be prevented from seeing it is beyond me. But liberals just love making our decisions for us. They’d like to make ’em all.
As Christians we have no king but Christ. As pitiable worldlings they have no king but Caesar. If Caesar says the movie’s okay for them to watch, they flock to it in droves. If he says it’s not okay, they won’t let anybody watch it.
And who, exactly, is their Caesar?
I think we can figure that out, don’t you?
Imagine the furor–or should I say fuhrer?–if the National Portrait Gallery had a “Struggle For Justice” exhibit featuring a statue of Heinrich Himmler.
Well, they don’t, but they’ve got the next best thing–a bust of Margaret Sanger, who founded Planned Parenthood as an integral part of something that she called “the Negro Project,” aimed at ridding the world of “inferior races” (http://www.christianpost.com/news/black-pastors-protest-smithsonian-bust-of-planned-parenthoods-nazi-like-founder-margaret-sanger-in-civil-rights-exhibit-143901/). In other words, her position was the same as Himmler’s, but lacking the kind of resources he had at his disposal–the SS, concentration camps, etc.–Sanger sought to accomplish the same end by different means: to wit, abortion.
Meanwhile there’s all this foof about tearing down Civil War statues, which commemorate things that stopped happening 150 years ago, but this statue, which honors a thoroughly wicked thing that’s still happening today, stands.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t approve of erasing history, and I don’t want Sanger’s statue destroyed or hidden. But to leave it under any roof pertaining to anyone’s idea of “justice” is way too rich for me. This Himmler in skirts is part of history; we ought to know about her; we ought to know she intended abortion as a means of practical genocide; and in fact, we’d better not forget her. Because it’s dangerous to forget history: it has a way of turning back and biting you.
Source: The Nuts Are Out There