Jun. 2nd, 2014

Cats

Jun. 2nd, 2014 09:00 am
monk111: (Cats)
The cats are mad at me. Even Ash. I went to bed at ten-thirty, and there was not much food on the plate. I expected to wake up by two or three to feed them. But I was really, really tired. I slept straight until five o’clock. The poor babies must have been tormented, waiting and waiting by two o’clock, three o’clock, maybe giving up by four, starving to death. But that’s life. Sometimes you are disappointed. I haven’t even Sammy today.

Nic Kristof

Jun. 2nd, 2014 02:32 pm
monk111: (Noir Detective)
Nicholas Kristof of the New York Times is known to write columns on the lurid sex trade in Third World countries, arguably some of his best work. It turns out that the world is not necessarily that dark and horrible. He was fed some false information; it was a means of winning Western sympathy and money. Some critics of the do-gooder columnist are enjoying some schadenfreude: "Wait, Nic Kristof? No! You mean, Mr. Helicopter Rich White Man Rescuer was ready to buy lurid, falsified stories hook, line, and sinker? Who could have guessed!" At least the world and its men are not as nasty as we might have thought, right? Right?

{Source: Lawyers, Guns & Money Blog}

The Wire

Jun. 2nd, 2014 05:17 pm
monk111: (Bonobo Thinking)
Halfway through the first season of “The Wire”, I am growing cold on it. I was a little excited with the first few episodes. It is smart TV. But I need more than McNulty. I need more spice. It’s too bad, because I liked the idea of having a lot of hours of video-streaming on tap. Now I am back to hunting something up, and I no longer have the stash to afford to pay for videos.
monk111: (Flight)
Damn, the neighbor was quick to fix the fence. I guess it was fortuitous that I elected to mow this morning, so that I and the dog could take advantaged of our short-lived opportunity to get in some good petting. A good, strong dose of physical love goes a long way, I imagine; when it comes to this dog, it has to.
monk111: (Bonobo Thinking)
The Scorpion’s Sting refers to the fearsome arthropod that, when in mortal danger — for example, “surrounded by fire” — stings itself to death.

-- Ira Berlin at The Washington Post

Scorpions commit suicide? That's a new one on me. I didn't even know they could feel pain, much less despair of it.

This tidbit is about a new book about a plan that Lincoln and the Republicans had for ending slavery: by limiting slavery to the south and surrounding it by free states, the institution would eventually kill itself. They called the plan the Scorpion's Sting.
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