The links and such that I've sent myself for passing along are piling up. In fact, a number of them have 404'd already, if that tells you anything. I'm actually supposed to be baking cookies tonight, but my sinuses are draining--the dregs of last week's cold I hope--painfully. It's been a busy couple of weeks between work and extracurriculars. I don't think that it will slow down much between now and the time Dearest and I leave for vacation.
Speaking of whom, Dearest sent this along tonight. The ancients used honey to preserve bodies because of honey's antibacterial properties--a sometime nuisance for we mead-makers. (Actually, there's a schadenfreudish, possibly apocryphal, story about a couple tomb-robbers getting their comeuppance that way--but that's another tale for another time...) But apparently the observations of the ancients are
taking up the slack for the shortcomings of modern antibiotics.
Actually, I've since forgotten where I found
this piece of spot-on defiance in the face of egregious fear-mongering. The FDR and Churchill bit darned near had me cleaning off my monitor screen, 'cuz it caught me so out of left-field. I sooooo wish I knew enough about this dude to look him up. He could knock back pints on my tab all night.
I nabbed the following off Slate.com. It
Just Says It All, doesn't it? Sad thing, is, this was published slightly before the Ninnyhammer Sissypants Wing of the Democratic Party wedged dynamite in the cracks of the trunk and pushed the plunger:

But stepping away from politics... It's a good thing that I don't believe in St. Peter--well, not the "Saint" part, anyway--because I certainly wouldn't want
his job when
Bill Gates rings the doorbell of the Pearly Gates. I have a mixed admiration for the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, and this just adds to the "mixed" part of it. It's part of what I call the "Marshal Petain" conundrum, namely the illusion that by staying on the inside, you can offset the negative effects of your collaboration by mitigating what would otherwise have been a much harsher situation. I hope to never have to make Petain's decision.
And, in the "News of the Wierd" category: Disciplinary protocol for Thai police officers apparently now involves
a day of wearing pink "Hello Kitty" armbands, which--despite a few quasi-feminist scruples--I have to applaud as highly efficient creativity. Understand that this is
not about police officers in particular. I've actually had many positive experiences with the constabulary of my state. One of them gave me a lift to the auto shop (and hung around while the tow truck was called). Another even changed my tire in a bitter, windy November night. My applause stems more the fact that the people in question could keep working...and were not likely to fall down on their duties in the near future. Rather like Harvey McKay's description of the black armbands at the "stand-up strike" of disgruntled Japanese corporate workers. If we could concoct similar sanctions for the cowboy coders who have made my work life particularly annoying these past few weeks, it would be well...
I find it reprehensible that while my livelihood is under pressure from outsourcing/offshoring every day, I'm told to retrain, retool, and generally suck it up in the name of capitalist progress. But in the alternate reality bubble in which the pointy-haired likes of Jack Valenti exist, the laws of capitalism don't apply. (Rather like the Constitution, human rights and walking the walk of a Christian faith so loudly professed aren't supposed to get between the Right and their kleptocratic grabs for power and money.)
Technically, I'm a content provider. My gentle reader could, for reasons passing reason, plaguarize this blog letter-for-letter and deprive me of the fame and fortune and world domination that are rightly mine. [insert extra-sarcastic eyeroll] But does that give me the right to insert a chunk of code into Blogger that matches the content's thief cuts-and-pastes against this blog? Definitely not.
I gave Dearest a few DVDs recently, and received a couple CDs, which splashes me with guilt for feeding the RIAA/MPAA's monkey. Particularly when the monkey (disingenuously) conflates content and media in their FUDD. And they're in cahoots with Microsoft to enforce their overreaching.
Is boycott the right sort of revolution, though? Or is there a third path? I honestly don't know the answer. Music, in my Universe, largely exists to drown out cube-farm chatter. Movies are something to watch during a leisurely picnic dinner on the living-room floor. Or the adult equivalent of sucking one's thumb after a mind-bruising day. But ultimately, as The Big Lebowski's Walter Sobchak put it, "What's mine is mine." He was talking about dirty underwear, but I'm talking about my control over my own property. And neither Steve Ballmer nor Jack Valenti has squat to say about that.