Posting paucity
By lex, on April 9th, 2006
Just not feeling it, right now. Might have something to do with the that soul-destroying Engineering Risk Benefit Analysis course I’m taking – closely tied to that loathesome online stats course from last quarter. Might have something to do with the general ickyness of all the news. Over at the front, our newly liberated allies are being perfectly beastly * to each other, and even a supporter of the effort finds himself wondering at times, “who are these people?” In other quarters, muffled beats of the war drum * are heard yet again, calling for us to hurl ourselves once more into the breach, dear friends. And here we are stuck between poor choices on one hand, and none at all on the other. Minas Tirith vs. Mordor II.
Domestically, I find myself unable to whip up the requisite rage over the topic of Representative McKinney’s (D-Ga) assaults, physical and moral, on the person of a capitol cop. Neither do I feel stirred to lift a rehabilitative finger in the direction of Tom Delay, whose fall from his personal equivalent of grace is less a Greek tragedy than a straight-to-video B-movie. No, in a time sufficiently Orwellian that the perpetually affronted set feel free to pillory the president for telling the truth in order to offset a wicked lie, then it’s time to get the hell out of the political kiddie pool, what with all of its piss and crapulence, and head for the showers instead.
Could finish up that Rhythms blogvel, Lex, councha? Or maybe throw us a bone, toss in another serial?
I suppose I could try, gentle reader. I know just where it’s going now. The struggle, as ever, is getting it there. But my heart’s not in it, what with the tides of trauma and tears being in pretty full flood at the moment, revolving as ever around the topic of successfully raising teenagers in southern California. But, it’s not so very far we have to go now, and you’ve all been quite wonderful along the way, so bide a little further if you will. Good things come to those who wait.
So. Burdened by a Protestant work ethic (but gratefully devoid of Catholic guilt) I’ll sprinkle out these links, provided for the most part by occasional readers:
If it’s plane pr0n you’re after, then pop a merry chub at this pic * sent hither by Kevin, USS Ronald Reagan at sea in a storm, like. Jason provided this link, showing an Su-30MK looking to tie the low altitude record – you can only tie the record – at an airshow somewheres. The lack of visible exhaust, not to mention the absurdly low altitude on such a big jet – only consider the amount of airframe aft of the axis of rotation – set my Photoshop antennae all a-twitter, but other samples * of Su-30′s taxiing show a rather more nose down attitude, so: Who knows? If real, it brings to mind the old saw about old pilots and bold pilots, and that never the twain shall meet in one flesh.
Since I’m on about fighter jets, take a gander at this list * provided by Jeff entitled, “Who’s got the coolest ride?” Well, no, that’s not really what it’s entitled, but it might as well be. There’s plenty to argue with there, red meat to the wolves and all that, but I haven’t the heart for that either right now. Talk amongst yourselves if you like.
Penultimately, I would like to thank the eleventy-five-thousand people who sent me this link * showing the fruits of one man’s labor – a man with far too much time on his hands, and a rather comprehensive lego collection.
Finally, B2 passes on a joke worth sharing. I think:
Two men dressed in Pilots’ uniforms walk up the aisle of a jetliner on the ground. Both are wearing dark glasses, one is using a guide dog, and the other is tapping his way along the aisle with a cane. Nervous laughter spreads through the cabin, but the men enter the cockpit, the door closes, and the engines start up. The passengers begin glancing nervously around, searching for some sign that this is just a little practical joke. None is forthcoming.
The plane moves faster and faster down the runway, and the people sitting in the window seats realize they’re headed straight for the water at the edge of the airport territory. As it begins to look as though the plane will plow into the water, panicked screams fill the cabin. At that moment, the plane lifts smoothly into the air. The passengers relax and laugh a little sheepishly and, soon, all retreat into their magazines, secure in the knowledge that the plane is in good hands.
In the cockpit, one of the blind pilots turns to the other and says, “You know, Bob, one of these days, they’re gonna scream too late and we ‘re all gonna die.”
Anyway.
* 07-13-2018 Links Gone; no replacements found – Ed.
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