Babies. They beheaded babies. They are proud of it. It is particularly troubling when acts are so horrific that people of good will are sad that they are not there to personally kill the offenders. But that was my instant, immutable response to a video I saw on Saturday.
Last night I was exhausted, but I was manipulating the database code behind one of our sister sites. Not because disaster had struck for others using the site, but to save a game streak I’d been nudging along. I hate losing streaks.
My grief-stricken niece, a nurse, this week had to explain to her 7-year-old son that his daddy would not be coming home from the hospital. That heartbreaking duty followed a stressful month.
There was a time when respite was available, when for a couple of hours each week one could wipe his brow and smile. The restorative power of two hours of happiness is not to be underestimated.
The shampoo was cheap — as in $1.49 for a half gallon — but, hey, it was a name brand, so why not? When I used it I was rendered nearly unconscious by the amount of perfume in it. I’m not talking a nice scent, either, but rather the sort of thing you’d expect to find on the last-resort utility shelf at a mortuary, for use when the departed is past his bury-by date.
I’ve embarked on an important research project to further humanity’s understanding of the world. A project to delve deep into one of life’s most important questions. One that furthers the far reaches of science. One that helps to better understand… the chocolate chip cookie.
Much has been written in the last 75 years about how the U.S. gained an edge in the Pacific in World War II when the Japanese code was broken. In recent weeks it turns out I may have been trying to recreate that feat, and have begun to understand the challenges those skilled codebreakers faced.
This will be short because everything it says is so obvious. Do you follow the news? The allegedly shoo-in candidates for their respective parties’ presidential nomination have less principle and morals than a mosquito.
I’ve always been a fan of smoking, as long as that refers to smoking delicious meats. Barbecuing and related culinary feats let us taste summer. This year, though, is a year of strange smoke.
We are now an entirely gossip-based society. My old friend Mark pointed me to the latest outrage.