Be still, my heart. This is so awesome.
A motorcycle gang of burly tattooed bikers, who prowl the streets of New York, protecting puppies and kittens. You couldn’t make it up if you tried. They have a dispatcher who takes calls about abuse and various crimes. Then the gentlemen of Rescue Ink take off, catching crackheads who steal people’s pets and sell them for drugs, and mouthbreathers selling puppies to train for dog fighting and an early death. They adopt some of the animals, and help find homes for the rest. And they work with some people who just need their animals fixed, or simply don’t have enough shelter or water for their outdoor pets, even building doghouses if necessary.
And they can be intimidating, it appears. :o)
I have this cousin, whom I love dearly, but who is a flaming, die hard liberal (moreso than most of my family, I mean). She’s a well-respected, brilliant professor at, um, a well-known East Coast university. We rarely talk politics, because she admits to not having the ability to see other sides of an argument. She jokes that she makes her students argue both sides of a debate, but can’t do it herself, and when I occasionally remind her that I’m a moderate, she laughs and says “I’ve been called many things, but ‘moderate’ isn’t one of them.”
I mean, she’s way left. But she’s the only liberal I know who will still sit down with me and discuss politics without getting nasty and scary. Not that voices don’t get occasionally raised, but there’s no anger directed at each other. It’s a nice change, for both of us.
Anyway, she’s an Obama supporter, obviously. We had dinner in New York in June, and stayed at the table after everyone else had wandered off, talking about the election. One of the things she mentioned was that she feared for Obama’s life. I responded, oh sure, the militant Islamic loonies who think that because his father was Muslim, he’s an apostate. I worry about them too. I’m sure he has an amazing security team.
She responded, no, she was worried about racist white Americans. And I totally laughed at her. Nobody’s still like that, I said. In the 21st century? They’d stick out like a cockroach on a porcelain dish.
The good news is, they really did stick out as ugly, creepy insects — even in this week’s psycho, dirty, circusworld of Denver. And one bonehead jumped out of six-story window to get away from cops. Not exactly rocket scientists, which is a good thing, and hopefully they were just trash-talking, and not really planning anything (as the police suspect).
But still. Scary. Let’s beat him the old fashioned way, ok people? With votes? Thanks.
[On a slightly lighter note, separated at birth?]
So, it seems Chris Muir has lost his day job.
We’ve all been there, I think, and it sucks. Run over and help him out, if you can. He’s giving away cool stuff with all donations, including sexy pictures of Sam (you know you love curvy redheads) and original script sheets.
Day By Day’s been with us a long time. I’d hate to see it fade away.
Man, I hope McCain picks Sarah Palin for his VP. I know he’s not going to do it, but I have to hope, because I just don’t think I can get behind him if he picks some boring old white guy.
Not that I have a problem with boring old white guys, in general, but I agree with the left that we need some change here. We need a shake-up, and fresh thinking. And McCain needs someone who’s more conservative than he is, and who has the backbone to stand up to him when he does things (as he does) that piss off the base.
And a female VP would sure help soak up some of those women who backed Hillary but refuse to switch to Obama. She’s pretty and elegant and smart, but also rides snowmobiles and fishes and runs marathons — all things that I think American women can appreciate in a strong female role model (apart from the whole Republican thing, but you give and you take).
I just, you know, I don’t like McCain. I’ve been saying for years that I’d never vote for him. But the idea of handing the government over to a guy who called me a bitter, stupid, gun-hugging, bible-thumping redneck, just because I don’t live in the Hamptons? I don’t know if I can take that, either.
Maybe I’ll suck it up and vote absentee. Because I sure as hell am not going to be motivated to roll out of bed at 5am on a cold day in November, to beat the crowds to the polls, just to vote for McCain and McCain Jr.
I broke down and bought a necklace on etsy. I’d been drooling over this guy’s work for months, but couldn’t pick one piece that I really wanted more than the rest (except for one piece that was already sold). He put up a new one today, and it was perfect, so I snatched it up.
I wasn’t able to use the gift card, since it’s a paypal-based site, but as jw said in the comments, money’s fungible. I’ll just spend it on groceries or work clothes something.
It’s really nice today, so I walked over to Subway. I was halfway there, when I heard this weird noise. It was like a firetruck, but without the wah-wah change in sound. Like a car horn being held down for thirty seconds in one constant honk. It was coming from the direction of the freeway, but you wouldn’t be able to hear a car horn from there.
And it kept getting closer and closer. Half of the people in the parking lot turned around to look for it, because it sounded like it was right next to us, this incredibly loud car horn. Finally I looked up, and it was a plane.
I’ve never heard an airplane make such an awful sound. It was just so completely wrong. It didn’t crash while I was standing there, but I checked the news as soon as I got back. Ugh. I wish I could’ve made out the carrier.
JK Rowling’s prequel to the Harry Potter books — just 800 words scribbled on a postcard, but worth it! — is available for viewing online.
Since you aren’t going to find a hard copy anywhere, yourself, have a look. I wasn’t able to find the handwritten version in a legible size online, but they’ve got it typed up at MuggleNet.
I’ve never seen High School Musical (I know.) so I’m not sure what this reference is about, but I’ll tell you why it’s baffling.
HIGH School Musical knickers for young girls have sparked outrage — because they have the words “Dive in” on them.
Sue Ralph bought a packet of five pairs, with a “Disney-approved” design promoting the hit movie, for her seven-year-old granddaughter.
“You just never know who could see that and think it was a bit too enticing for a young child to be wearing.”
This story was on FoxNews, but I linked to The Sun because they have a picture. Look at that writing. It’s freaking microscopic.
If anyone has their head so close to your seven year old granddaughter’s crotch that they can read those tiny letters (and potentially be offended/enticed), the words should be the least of your worries. Pick up a frying pan and begin beating them with it immediately. Jeez.
I’m as horrified by little girls dressing like tarts as the next breeding-age woman, but a little perspective, please? (And come on, “dive in?” Getting innuendo from that is a tad histrionic.)
Tweedledee has returned, and he’s already yammering. He started talking to himself (in his normal, full-volume way) within minutes of when I sat down at my desk this morning. And now the month-long, 90 decibel monologue about his trip has begun.
I got so much done last week, when it was quiet enough to hear myself think — and I felt so smart, checking off all of those issues. Fixed, fixed, fixed. But now we’re back to normal.