>Different information

>I was talking to my mom the other day and she wanted to know if I’d “heard about that internet guy…with one of those blog things you talk about had been arrested”.

I did know about the specific case, but I had to ask for more information to know *which one*. My mom doesn’t seek out technology for a high, but she does know an awful lot about anything she’s exposed to– with three highly inquisitive and argumeative children, she would pretty much have to be. (not sure which came first!)

There’s the one she meant, the guy in egypt.

There’s a guy in Iran.

There’s the Greek guy.

I’m quite sure there are many more–given Iran’s history, I’m surprise this guy isn’t dead yet.

Meanwhile, here in the US of A, we’ve got… weblogs (thats what blog means, mom) from our boys in blue, green and all. (anyone who wants to get snippy about the “boys” part– I like Dame Thatcher’s quote: in language as in life, the male embraces the female.)

In other news, “Every United Nations meeting is either a success or a great success” and now some folks are trying to claim governance of the internet.

Folks, please pardon my lack of manners and skilled conversation, but I have only one thing to say to such folks: screw you.

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>Oh what an age!

>
This showed up at noon, from my Love. He’s stationed in Sasebo, Japan, but right now is floating out at sea somewhere. I am touched beyond being able to put into words, and very greatful.

Also, since we were email-chatting most of the time while he made sure I’d be home for the delivery, I feel almost like he was here for the day. *grin*

>Late night thought

>I love English.

It has a roll, a flow, a rise and fall that can be music and a story at once. Shades of meaning, dozens of words for that, which, in other tongues is a single word and many tones– and meaning is shaded further still by the situation, the tone, even the one to whom you are speaking.

The rules that change, seem to be solidified whimsy, then change again with the times– but always slowly, always so they can be followed, mapped out and understood by those who wish to study.

The frustration of spelling, the mysteries of pronunciation, and always, always, the lovely glitter of a story behind each gem of a word. Simple beads call to heaven, meanings twist like a snake, once alien words join the family and are utterly changed by that event.

I truly love the English Language.

>America. Sometimes, you do things that blow away all hint of despair

>eHere is your story: a young woman runs away from an arranged marriage, jumping into a country where she does not know the language or the culture and secures safety. She adapts. For years she works, becoming well-known for her brains and beauty. She even represents her new home as a member of Parliament.

Eventually, she is involved in a movie related to her childhood– a culture that devalued her for being female. It is beautiful, though slightly depressing, and also clean enough to be shown in a normal school.

The man who produced the movie is killed in the middle of the street in the middle of the day and for months nobody “saw anything.” A five-page letter is held to his body by a knife, including threats to the woman’s life.

The woman is obviously scared, but she does not run– until the high-security building in which she lives kicks her out as a security risk. No-one will help her– until many colleges in the United States hear about her plight and offer her professorship.

She is now in the United States, mostly in DC at the AEI but also in various other organizations.

I was delighted to see this article on National Review because I remember reading on a blog when van Gogh was killed and she was evicted– I knew that many organizations here in the US were offering her a place because of a helpful poster on that blog.

She has arrived and is flourishing, by all appearances.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that she’s lovely, and not just her looks: “Human beings are equal; cultures are not.” This, I can greatly agree with– those cultures that hold that a high good is killing women for being raped or sawing off heads for religious reasons are not as good as a culture that admires those who will get killed trying to protect the woman from being raped, or protect even those religions they violently disagree with from destruction.

I am proud of my country in this event, very proud.

>I love the internet…

>

Our ideas are thrown out live for our readers to chew on, sometimes
unmercifully. But that is the joy of blogging; not that we will get it right the
first time, but that through formulating ideas, discussion, and synthesis, we
may eventually catch a fleeting glimpse of the truth.

-Cassandra of VC, yet again.

Alright, generally, I don’t do a single link-like-read-this post. (that’s what my side bar is for)

But there are good ideas and it’s so nicely phrased, that I ask y’all to please go visit her, and be polite.

(Y’all: old english word for “any random person who happens to wander by)

>A Different Christmas Poem

> The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,

I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.

My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,

My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.

Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,

Transforming the yard to a winter delight.

The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,

Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.

My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,

Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.

In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,

So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t too near,

But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.

Perhaps just a cough, I didn’t quite know, Then the

sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,

And I crept to the door just to see who was near.

Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,

A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,

Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.

Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,

Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

“What are you doing?” I asked without fear,

“Come in this moment, it’s freezing out here!

Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,

You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!”

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,

Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..

To the window that danced with a warm fire’s light

Then he sighed and he said “Its really all right,

I’m out here by choice. I’m here every night.”

“It’s my duty to stand at the front of the line,

That separates you from the darkest of times.

No one had to ask or beg or implore me,

I’m proud to stand here like my fathers before me.

My Gramps died at ‘Pearl on a day in December,”

Then he sighed, “That’s a Christmas ‘Gram always remembers.”

My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ‘Nam’,

And now it is my turn and so, here I am.

I’ve not seen my own son in more than a while,

But my wife sends me pictures, he’s sure got her smile.

Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,

The red, white, and blue… an American flag.

I can live through the cold and the being alone,

Away from my family, my house and my home.

I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,

I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.

I can carry the weight of killing another,

Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..

Who stand at the front against any and all,

To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.”

“So go back inside,” he said, “harbor no fright,

Your family is waiting and I’ll be all right.”

“But isn’t there something I can do, at the least,

“Give you money,” I asked, “or prepare you a feast?

It seems all too little for all that you’ve done,

For being away from your wife and your son.”

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,

“Just tell us you love us, and never forget.

To fight for our rights back at home while we’re gone,

To stand your own watch, no matter how long.

For when we come home, either standing or dead,

To know you remember we fought and we bled.

Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,

That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.”

–From a blog I can’t recall

A former sailor's ramblings on anything from family, country and Church through general geek-ness.