Concrete thinking

Some vegans don't eat honey because it's an animal product. Some do, because honey isn't secreted by bees but actually manufactured by them and harvested by beekeepers who provide luxurious homes and protection from bears and skunks in exchange, making the whole thing a refreshing example of interspecies commerce, especially since the bees are free to leave at any time. Meanwhile, a study from The University of Texas at Austin and the University of California, Berkeley shows “landscapes with large amounts of paved roads... have lower numbers of ground-nesting bumblebees.” I'm guessing that's because cement is harder than dirt.

Although his sideburns were miraculous.

Everybody knows what today is, right? Of course. Matthew Arnold's 190th birthday. Belongs in the Gallery of Wacky 19th-Century Facial Hair, next to the oft-cited Horace Greeley. A smart guy, probably a nice guy, and somebody whose ideas are worth pondering as we search for the real meaning of this holiday season."To pass from a Christianity relying on its miracles to a Christianity relying on its natural truth is a great change. It can only be brought about by those whose attachment to Christianity is such, that they cannot part with it, and yet cannot but deal with it sincerely."

I could use some Victory Gin.

Oh. Okay. Now I get it. It's doublespeak. When they talk about a right, it means they're taking something away from us. The “right to life” means that certain elective medical procedures are not solely the business of you and your doctor; it's the government that gets the final decisive word. The “right to work” means that after all the strikes called and all the heads busted, you can no longer organize effectively and your grandfather froze his ass on the picket line for nothing. And the “right to bear arms?” We all know what that means.

Memo to self:

If you'd have been smart, you'd have planned for this and had something to fall back on. You'd have squirreled something away for a rainy day. You'd have made hay while the sun shone, feathered your nest. Gathered your rosebuds, as it were. Instead you robbed Peter to pay Paul, sowed your wild oats, burned the midnight oil at both ends and never thought about the inevitable, that someday it would be time pay the piper. So now you're hanging on by your fingernails with your back against the wall, staring into the abyss.... Jeez, I still need 6 words.

The NRA should love this.

Do you think there is a sizable subset of gun owners who concurrently give a rat's ass about how many kids are blowing each other to glory over beefs so trivial nobody can actually remember who dissed who first? I certainly hope so. In fact, I'm willing to assume so. That's why I'm inviting them to join me in supporting Guns 4 Grads, a program that reaches out to at-risk youth with after-school programs that combine history lessons with the chance to assemble their own Kalashnikov rifle. The goal: a well-regulated militia of politically aware poor people with assault weapons.