Monday, February 19. 2007
"The Marines." Weds. night, 9 Eastern, on PBS (!). For once, wish I had a TV. (thanks, Reader)
 We used to post interesting complaints from time to time, but the onslaught has been overwhelming. It's time for some praise, for relief. "We get letters..." as Mad Magazine used to say:
"A very hip blog, but not enough Buddhism." Allen Ginsberg "I check it frequently." Thomas Brewton at View from 1776 "Maggie's is my favorite blog." G.K. Chesterton "Les Aubes sont navrantes!" Arthur Rimbaud "Maggie's Farm is a daily Ivy League education - and no exams." George W. Bush "There is always a surprise on Maggie's Farm." Rocky Raccoon "I envy your IQs." Albert Einstein "Nice blog, but yo - where the cheesecake at?" Bill Clinton "Eclectic but confusing. What are you all about, and why do you bother?" SL in Indianapolis "This is your third and final notice. Your electric bill is past due." New England Light and Power "You waste too much time with it, and you shouldn't have to edit everything - but I do enjoy reading Maggie's sometimes." My first wife "What is a "blog"?" MR in Covington, KY "I agree with you 100%" Rick Moran at RingWingNutHouse "A very fine, refined, and unpredictable poetry selection. Love it." T.S. Eliot "A bit centrist for my taste, but the blog opens my mind." Markos Jones ("Mr. Jones") at Daily Kos "An essential once-a-year read." TC in Toronto "An exemplar of the true American spirit." George Washington "You are cybersluts who would sell your souls for a reader." JT, CIO, Interplanetary Industries, Ltd. "You sure do know your tractors and your hotdish." Johan Johanssen in Minnesota "Good Injun braves. Heap big hunters. Only blog in casino." Chief Sitting Bull "Excellent New England bog, I mean brog, I mean - hey, pal, that's my drink!" Ted Kennedy "Maggie's Farm has true grit." John Wayne "Maggie's Farm 'gets it'." Frederick Hayek "Most misunderappreciated politically centrist, intelligent, and groovy website in the Milky Way." Powerpine "We put Maggie's on our blogroll, but it was like 'pity sex'." Balloon Juice "You will be the first to die, filthy counter-revolutionary pigs." Lenin "You will be next to die, filthy infidel pigs." Omar Muhammed el Rashid al Ramal, in London "A bunch of f***ing goddam fascist counter-revolutionary pigs who I will have lined up and shot, you f***ing c***suckers." Hillary Clinton "Maggie's makes me feel square and old-fashioned." Sigmund Freud "A deep understanding of the challenges facing Western Civilization." Lionel Trilling "The blog that knows the blues." Sonny Boy Williamson "The blog that knows the Constitution." James Madison " .............................. ." Instapundit "Maggie's Farm has raised my ticket sales by getting my name out, so hurry and place your ads here now!" William Shakespeare "I ain't gonna work on Maggie's Farm no more." Bob Dylan "Hey - that photo is the farmhouse I grew up in." David Burge, my hero, at IowaHawk "Hey Bird Dog - I just stubbed my toe on the Spanish Steps. Owww. Ouchie." Ezra Pound "Excellent taste in whine." Robert Parker (Parker rating for the 2006 Maggie's Farm: "32. Corked, overly-sweet, too much gunpowder, aftertastes of liver, diver duck and old owl. Past its prime, worn-out even though it was never any good. Drink now if a desperate alcoholic, or, if not, put down the drain immediately.") "You lean a bit left, but you are otherwise quite likeable." John Ashcroft "My sixth or seventh...or maybe eighth... I dunno... favorite blog." His Royal Highness Roger De Hauteville, King of Sicily (brevetted) "If you were in Europe, you'd be in jail where you belong, writing your memoirs on fine French toilet paper." Jacques Chirac "Les oiseaux - fantastique!" John J. Audubon "God bless you all at Margie's Kitchen for your good work. I'd like to offer to name your Connecticut contributors 'Honorary Democrats.' Would that be something they might like? There would be a photo with Nancy Pelosi." Joe Lieberman "Your blog is a good example of why we need to limit political speech in America. Free speech is one thing, but you make it clear why we need limits. Even roads have speed limits. Not everything needs to be said." John McCain "What is all this hideous right-wing nonsense? Do you all really mean all this?" My sister in MA "Hey Bird Dog, get away from my quail." Elvis Presley Image: A 1950 Farmall Model C
Saturday, February 17. 2007
Our friend Synthstuff is home from a hard month of sailing in the Caribbean. How he found this Norwegian link I have no idea, but the story goes like this: Presumably Norwegian dude buys an old, run-down farm in Portugal, and eventually gets around to using a hacksaw to cut the padlocks to a big old abandoned barn on the property that had not been entered in 15 years. If you like cars, scroll down to see what is in there.
Sister Mary Katherine entered the Monastery of Silence. The Priest said, "Sister, you know that this is a silent monastery. You are welcome here as long as you like but you may not speak until I direct you to do so."
Sister Mary Katherine lived in the monastery for 5 years before the Priest
said to her, "Sister Mary Katherine, you have been here for 5 years. You can speak two words." Sister Mary Katherine said, "Hard bed." "I'm sorry to hear that," the Priest said, "we will get you a better bed."
After another 5 years, Sister Mary Katherine was called by the Priest. "You may say another two words, Sister Mary Katherine.” “Cold Food,” said Sister Mary Katherine, and the Priest assured her that the food would be better in the future. On her 15th anniversary at the monastery, the Priest again called Sister Mary Katherine Into his office. “You may say two words today.” “I quit,” said Sister Mary Katherine. “It’s probably best," said the Priest, "you’ve done nothing but bitch since you got here.”
Friday, February 16. 2007
A great blog post - as opposed to a "check this out" post - is succinct, non-rambling, fact-filled, gracefully-written, minimally self-referential, and pulls together disparate themes and unusual facts to shed fresh light on a subject, or to make a random subject interesting. That is to say, a great blog post is a good brief essay, ideally well-salted with links. When I post, I rarely have take the time that is required to be brief. Here's a good example of a fine blog post by Never Yet Melted about deer coursing in Scotland.
This urgent item came in over the transom:  Most of you have read the scare-mail about the person whose kidneys were stolen while he was passed out. While the kidney story was an urban legend, this one is not. It's happening every day in America.
My thighs were stolen from me during the night a few years ago. It was just that quick. I went to sleep in my body and woke up with someone else's thighs. The new ones had the texture of cooked oatmeal. Who would have done such a cruel thing to legs that had been mine for years? Whose thighs were these and what happened to mine? I spent the entire summer looking for my thighs. Finally, hurt and angry, I resigned myself to living out my life in jeans and Sheer Energy pantyhose. Then, just when my guard was down, the thieves struck again. My ass was next. I knew it was the same gang, because they took pains to match my new rear end to the thighs they stuck me with earlier. I couldn't believe that my new ass was attached at least three inches lower than my original. Now, my rear complemented my legs, lump for lump. Frantic, I prayed that long skirts would stay in fashion. It was two years ago when I realized my arms had been switched. One morning I was fixing my hair and I watched horrified but fascinated as the flesh of my upper arms swung to and fro with the motion of the hairbrush. This was really getting scary. My body was being replaced one section at a time. How clever and fiendish. Age? Age had nothing to do with it. Age is supposed to creep up, unnoticed, something like maturity. No, I was being attacked repeatedly and without warning. In despair, I gave up my T-shirts. What could they do to me next? My poor neck suddenly disappeared faster than the Thanksgiving turkey it now resembled. That's why I decided to tell my story. I can't take on the medical profession by myself. Women of the world, wake up and smell the coffee. That really isn't plastic that those surgeons are using. You KNOW where they are getting those replacement parts, don't you? The next time you suspect someone has had a face "lifted," look again. Was it lifted from you? This is not a hoax. This is happening to women in every town every night. WARN YOUR FRIENDS! P.S. I must say that last year I thought someone had stolen my breasts. I was lying in bed and they were gone! As I jumped out of bed, I was relieved to see that they had just been hiding in my armpits as I slept. Now I keep them hidden in my waistband where no-one can find the,. Image: Photo of the author of the above warning, prior to theft of body parts.
Thursday, February 15. 2007
Shamelessly stolen from Villainous Company. I hope Cassandra doesn't mind, but this was too good to pass up. Can guys assume that this is what is going on when a lady has a smile in the line at Starbucks? 
An honest man was being tailgated by a stressed-out woman on a busy boulevard. Suddenly, the light turned yellow, just in front of him.
He did the right thing, stopping at the crosswalk, even though he could have beaten the red light by accelerating through the intersection.
The tailgating woman hit the roof--and the horn--screaming in frustration as she missed her chance to get through the intersection.
As she was still in mid-rant, she heard a tap on her window and looked up into the face of a very serious police officer.
The officer ordered her to exit her car with her hands up. He took her to the police station where she was searched, finger-printed, photographed and placed in a holding cell.
After a couple of hours, a policeman approached the cell and opened the door.
She was escorted back to the booking desk where the arresting officer was waiting with her personal effects. He said, "I'm very sorry for this mistake. You see, I pulled up behind your car while you were blowing your horn, flipping off the guy in front of you, and cussing a blue streak at him. I noticed the 'Choose Life' license plate holder, the 'What Would Jesus Do' bumper sticker, the 'Follow Me to Sunday School' bumper sticker, and the chrome-plated Christian fish emblem on the trunk. Naturally, I assumed you had stolen the car."
Wednesday, February 14. 2007
 It's OK. The court says so. And where are you going to meet appropriate people anyway - at Guido's Pizza and Lounge? From Meyerson at WaPo. A perfect Valentine's Day item:
In August 2005, I wrote a column about a recent National Labor Relations Board (Republican majority thereof) ruling that upheld the legality of a company's banning its employees from fraternizing off the job, citing as a woozy precedent a previous ruling that had banned hotel employees from fraternizing with guests. Earlier this month, the D.C Court of Appeals overturned that 2005 ruling -- reaffirming, broadly speaking, that the employer-employee relationship isn't that of a lord to a serf, and, more narrowly, that happy hour with your co-workers is your true-blue American right.
 Quoted from Amerisearch:
In the third century, Roman Emperor Claudius the Goth not only commanded that the Roman gods must be worshipped, but he temporarily forbade marriage, because he believed single men made better soldiers. Legend has it that Bishop Valentine risked the Emperor's wrath by refusing to worship idols and for secretly marrying young couples. Valentine was dragged before the Prefect of Rome, who condemned him to be beaten to death with clubs and have his head cut off on February 14, 269AD. While awaiting execution, it is said he prayed for the jailers' sick daughter, who miraculously recovered. He wrote her a note and signed it, "from your Valentine." In 496 AD, Pope Gelasius designated February 14th as “Saint Valentine’s Day.”
Thus a Saint's Day on which to remember the lengths to which sacrificial love can go. The secularized version of this Saint's Day has eliminated the example of Christ, and the faith of St. Valentine, and retained only the tradition of the clubbing to death to which all fellows can be subject if they do not please their wife and/or girlfriend(s).
Tuesday, February 13. 2007
Sunday, February 11. 2007
Read Ankle Biting's depressing most recent (it is becoming a daily event) example of news distortion - this re Dem/press lies about Medicare), but he cheers you up at the end with Shane MacGowan doing Dirty Old Town. (fixed that link) And if you liked that, you can hear Fairytale of New York here. Lyrics here.
 Because recycling is stupid and ignorant. This fact is widely known, but it's heretical to say outloud. Recycling has become a sacred cow. Penn and Teller tell it like it is, as usual (h/t, LGF).
No, it's beyond stupid - it's a rip-off. Except for aluminum cans, not only is it a fraud, but it makes Iron Eyes Cody cry because recycling hurts Gaia. But people want easy ways to feel virtuous, which is "nice" but not always wise. But don't take that simple pleasure away from them, right? Even if it wastes oil to recycle? And costs them money - for nothing? Pure self-deception. But people will do anything easy to feel self-satisfaction. The only thing that benefits from recycling are the garbage companies that feed off the government subsidies. It's about the same sort of genius concept as biofuels, which require more energy to produce than they contain - and raise the price of staples in poor parts of the world, and destroy forests by subsidizing non-market-based farming in sensitive areas. But it does take money from the Middle East and from Chavez, which is good. I am going to buy a hybrid, but not to please the Greenies. I will put a bumper sticker on it: Drive a Hybrid: Take a Bomb from a Moslem. Or maybe: Screw Chavez: Drive a Hybrid. Or maybe both. To deprive these folks of income is the least I can do for the earth.
Saturday, February 10. 2007
Friday, February 9. 2007
If you choose to hand-address Christmas cards (as they should be), but are too lazy to write "Mr. and Mrs. P. Chuffington Badlington-Smythe III" on your cards, but opt instead to write "The Badlington-Smythes" - how do you write it? With or without an apostrophe in "Smythes"? If an apostrophe, where? Or do you just dodge the entire grammatical issue by using the overly-casual "The Badlington-Smythe Family"? There is no implied possessive that I can find, so why any apostrophe? Unless it is short for "The Badlington-Smythe's House." But you don't send a card to a house.
Depending on how you count it, Maggie's Farm is either one or two years old today. Our first year was under the radar - no sitemeter, no stats, etc. - invisible, in the womb. So we could call this our First Official Birthday. All of us farm slaves spend all of the time we are not busy plowing and pruning fruit trees and milking the chickens and feeding the cows and sucking the sap out of Sugar Maples and popping rats at the dump, chained to our PCs in the Maggie's Farm unheated basement amidst squealing mice, flaking asbestos, toxic molds of all sorts, an oil-soaked dirt floor, and dripping pipes, illuminated only by smoking lamps fueled with old recycled tractor oil, required to either Think or Link for our daily allottments of gruel. Yep, "Think or Link." That's what the sign says that hangs from the creaking, termite-infested rafters. Consider that setting when you read us. Those are not tear stains on these pages - they are spots from leaks from the water pipes overhead. Well, most of them. The best present we could receive: Call the SWAT Team and get us out of here Let all your friends, enemies, neighbors, bosses, underlings, kids, colleagues, etc. know about Maggie's. A shame for them to miss out on this pretty good thing. And if you are a blogger, throw us a blogroll. It's a vanity thing. If you are a reader, please leave comments. Sometimes our comment threads contain certain glimmers of humor, and indications - if not proof - of human intelligence. Thanks to our current regular commenters (all highly bribed paid for their work). Other readers: don't be shy. If you have a minute, pitch in. We will pay you equally well. Our mission is simple: To provide a steady stream of stuff that interests or amuses or enrages or delights us, with no ads, with complete free speech and total indifference to the political correctness of the moment, with total independence, with irreverence towards all, with a dose of skepticism towards everything except the US Constitution, and with a deep gratitude for the founders, the traditions, the foundations, and the blessed but shrinking freedom from state power in the USA - and most of all for the God of our Fathers. The official Maggie's Farm hymn (midi music file on link) was written for the Centennial celebration of July 4th: God of our fathers, Whose almighty hand
Leads forth in beauty all the starry band
Of shining worlds in splendor through the skies
Our grateful songs before Thy throne arise. Thy love divine hath led us in the past,
In this free land by Thee our lot is cast,
Be Thou our Ruler, Guardian, Guide and Stay,
Thy Word our law, Thy paths our chosen way. From war’s alarms, from deadly pestilence,
Be Thy strong arm our ever sure defense;
Thy true religion in our hearts increase,
Thy bounteous goodness nourish us in peace. Refresh Thy people on their toilsome way,
Lead us from night to never ending day;
Fill all our lives with love and grace divine,
And glory, laud, and praise be ever Thine. Thanks for visiting us, and thanks to Green Mountain Boy Chris for keeping us up and running. Onward and upward.
Thursday, February 8. 2007
 Physicists at Harvard have been able to play all sorts of games with light.
Astonishing, but I guess the math predicts it. NYT Science Times.
Wednesday, February 7. 2007
The Pakistan steam railroad, over the historically critical Khyber Pass, between Pakisatan and Afghanistan. You can do it. Margaret Vladisova did, and posted her photos here. 
Tuesday, February 6. 2007
"Pre-posterous." Literally, the front following; that is, the cart before the horse. Chundering - barfing Chuntering - bitching
By averaging them out, there is much distortion. For example, the relatively small but conspicuous numbers of Wall Street types with 1-50 million incomes get lost in the averages. (average always eliminate bi-modal and tri-modal distributions). Still, these numbers probably hold in most of the country.
 Sonia Szajnberg is the daughter of our (recently truant) Aliyah Diary author. I remember when she was born. She looks like her mother.
She's a jazz singer now in NYC. Try I Remember April. Absolutely lovely.
Sunday, February 4. 2007
Here are some dynamite short stories. Commentary's Contentions.
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