I don't expect the TSA-approved lock to do anything but discourage baggage handlers from opening my suitcase, or, as Jacob said, prevent the zipper from being pulled open accidentally. I've now lost two of them while traveling -- presumably TSA is using their master to open them, and then not bothering to replace the locks when done rummaging through my possessions.
I suspect that the reading glasses and sunglasses are not being confiscated, but are being forgotten at the screening point. It's amazing what people will walk away from when they're annoyed or in a hurry.
It is nice to know that I could replace my confiscated Swiss Army knives so cheaply on Ebay.
Hey, Scraps. I hope you get sprung soon. Those drugs can do a number on your digestive system. Hugs!
Low BP and bitching sounds good to me. Shut up, Scraps,and let people make sure you're ok.
Sending light and healing to him. I hope it's not.
I strongly suspect that Mr. Revell's ancestors were undocumented immigrants to the United States, who took no tests or oaths of citizenship at all when they got here.
Technically, their children were American citizens, and thus technically, so is he.
Half of my ancestors were here to greet the other half upon arrival on these shores, some time before there was a United States to be a citizen of. And I say, along with the lady in the harbor:
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
It doesn't say anything about what color your skin might be.
Thanks for letting me laugh at that all over again.
I have participated in Native American Church sweat lodge ceremonies.
I've seen sweat lodges that could hold up to 20 people, no more. The leader of the ceremony is always very aware of the state of the participants. If Anglos are present, they often open the lodge two or three times during the ceremony.
The point is not to "build neural connections". It is to make a sacrifice of your suffering in order to speed your prayers to god. The hottest sweat I ever attended was held to pray for a young man who was going to Sun Dance. He was about to attempt something very difficult, and so it called for stronger prayers. But even there, the lodge was opened between rounds of prayers and singing.
It's very troubling to see con men abusing the religious practices of another culture to make money, and then have them do it so badly that people die.
If there are extra Wave invites about, I would love to have one. Just, you know, asking.
Kevin Bacon says that Jon Singer says "Hi!".
So lovely. Thanks for the photo links, and the context of the quote from Psalms.
My mind is full of glittering anglo-saxon warriors, all in red and gold.
It could be that what Michael Schwartz is saying is that whenever he gets introspective about sex, he finds himself thinking gay thoughts.
Ya think?
If only the right wing believed in science, they could study psychology and stop being so damned transparent.
@texanne -- you find out where programming keeps the signup sheets, and sign up. Often they're at Registration. Sometimes they're near the Kaffeeklatsch room/rooms.
LOL!!!
Not only would this improve the tone of people's reading, but would deal with obsessive file hoarding and data proliferation!
Does Acme-brand piano repellent work on safes too?
About as well as it works on pianos. Or, Yipe!
As Gardner says, Charlie was kind to more people in more ways than anyone will ever know.
Tim, thanks for confirming that he passed away on the plane, and swiftly. I'm glad it happened that way.
Michael Jackson is what you get when a brilliant artistic talent survives childhood sexual abuse. You'll never see a brighter neon sign flashing out the signs of it: the anorexia, the self-mutilation, the bizarre sexual affect, the exhibitionism, and, unfortunately, the sexualization of other children.
His life, his fame, made it impossible for him to address the neurological and emotional damage. Though his efforts come through loud and clear in his music. Blame him, but don't forget to blame the people who did it to him, too.
Pretty clear that Jackson is in fact dead, on the same day as Farrah Fawcett. I'll take "objects of sexual obsession" for 1000.
They made the mistake of committing their crimes in Pima County instead of Cochise. Thus, the Sheriff took it damn seriously.
I live less than 50 miles from the Mexican border. Those psycho Minutemen occasionally parade around on their ATVs around here, harassing my neighbors. We've told them more than once that they're trespassing on our private road, and to get the hell away. That they've turned to terrorism doesn't surprise me, but it does alarm me.
Oh Will.
Release!
Trust me on this one, ok?
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|---|---|
| 2009 | 26 |
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