In beautiful California. I agree with the commenter that the Congress should put harsh (and unacceptable to the lunatics in Sacramento) conditions on any bailout.
…by the left. When they accuse Republicans of this, it’s just one more case of projection. And if you consider economics a science, dismal or otherwise, their bellicosity knows no bounds.
Actually, I don’t think that even they think that’s what they’re trying to do.
Nick Gillespie wants to see more politicians crying.
I want to hear the lamentations of their women, when they aren’t women themselves.
I don’t have any good way to grab the video, but I reran the segment several times on the DVR. On the “All-Star Panel” of Special Report tonight, in the second segment, A. B. Stoddard bit off the word “Teabaggers” when describing the affiliation of many incoming members of Congress. Just so you know where her head is. Color me unsurprised…
I hope someone will come up with video.
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
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Says io9: “Two enormous, gamma-ray-emitting structures are bubbling out of the center of our galaxy. And astronomers have no idea what caused them.” That’s comforting. They do have an explanation for the enormous white brackets and letters and numbers, each of which is several hundred light-years across, but about the bubbles they got bupkis. That’s not what gets me, though: it’s the Milky Way. Suddenly it seems as if we really should have a better name for the galaxy. You meet some aliens, work out the language issues, and find out they call the Galaxy “The Hand of God Prime” or “The Torch of the Void” or “The Cradle of Light,” and then they ask us, and then they look at us with their eyes on stalks moving quizzically up and down and say, in their grating metallic voices, “The Fluid of Mammary Glands Road? Seriously?” And one of them spies a Milky Way candy bar – actually, he heard its distinct chemical signature as it underwent a chemical change when the wrapper opened, and this produced a rather dissonant change in the infra-red spectrum, which they usually reserve for tragedy and dark comedy – and he asks why that is named after the galaxy. Or if it’s named for breast milk. “It’s all about tits with you people, isn’t it?” And then we sort of nod and say, well, you got us there, what can we say. But what did you say you called Andromeda, the Comely Buttock? To each his own, then.
Also thoughts on colliding galaxies, and failure to us a turn signal.