What do you think about the term ‘tar baby’? In this AP story (link defunct), two presidential hopefuls have said of a difficult–dare we say ‘sticky’–situation that it is or would be a ‘tar baby’ for those involved. Both men apologized for using the term, but I don’t get it. Are the Uncle Remus stories anathema in our sensitive age? Or is this a return of the idiocy that cried out a few years ago when a politician who labeled someone as ‘niggardly’ was rebuked for his racist remark? That’s about as smart as trying to take the ‘hell’ out of ‘hello’ by saying ‘heaveno.’

I must pass on this brief article on magic tricks which appear to defy death. The William Tell trick is incredible!

Off the cuff, I can’t whole-heartedly recommend a new encyclopedia from an American conservative viewpoint even though they may be onto something. This is their aim:

Conservapedia is an online resource and meeting place where we give full credit to Christianity and America. Conservapedia is student-friendly. You will much prefer using Conservapedia compared to Wikipedia if you want concise, clean answers free of “political correctness”.

I guess the proof will be in the pudding no matter what the authors’ intent, but being styled a conservative encyclopedia gives the immediate impression of political slant, don’t you think?

I’m beat. I’m washed out. Judging by the energy I’ve lost, I have to assume somebody implemented the Kyoto Accords on my behalf.

Up to now, it’s been a good week. The CPAP machine seems to be doing its job. I’ve been waking up refreshed, sharper of mind and with a better attitude. The effect generally faded in the afternoons, but the time I hit the wall seemed to be later each day.

Yesterday I felt like I didn’t hit the wall at all.

Alas, the wall was just changing tactics. I woke up early this morning, and was unable to get back to sleep, for the first time since I started using the breathing prosthetic.

And all day I’ve been Grandpa Sloth, the sloth all the other sloths have to wait for. I’m weak. I’m tired. I’d close my mouth when I chew, but that takes so much effort.

And the Black Dog of Depression has his big Labrador paws on my shoulders and is drooling down my neck.

It wasn’t even a bad day. I got started on a project I’ve been dreading and putting off, so my guilt should be lower. My new library assistant seems to be catching on to the basics of the cataloging system. And I got a line on a new agent, thanks to the good offices of Ed Veith (I’ll let you know if any contracts get signed).

Fortunately the day will end, and tomorrow will likely be better. I’ll be sorry I even wrote this post.

So forget all about it, please.

I can sympathize with these men. If I knew a whale was stranded in the harbor nearby, I would want to urge him out to the ocean too. But this is a sperm whale, and I’ve read Moby Dick. In this case, I’m not sure I would actually try to do anything at all, at least not anything in a boat.

Today the temperature topped 60. We’re not fooled, mind you. We’re Minnesotans. We’ve been deceived too many times by Madame March to put any trust in her fickle promises. Tomorrow will be cooler (though not bad) and there’s a chance of some snow over the next few days.
But today it was possible to pretend the whole thing was over.
As I took my constitutional, I saw two people I also saw last night. Last night I took them for a mother and her little boy.
Today I got closer and realized the mother was a young guy. And the little boy was his girlfriend.
That’s pretty much all the proof I need, isn’t it? I’m officially a codger.
Movie advice (from a guy who almost never goes to them anymore): If you enjoyed 300 and want to find more of the same, and if you check out movies starring Gerard Butler on Netflix, and you see that he did one called Beowulf, and you think, “Hey, another great action movie with swords, starring the same guy!”—take it from me. Don’t waste your money.
My review of Beowulf is here.
I’m considering devoting the rest of my life to destroying the market for that particular irritating piece of political correctness.
Being a codger now, I have to take my pleasures where I can.

Today the temperature topped 60. We’re not fooled, mind you. We’re Minnesotans. We’ve been deceived too many times by Madame March to put any trust in her fickle promises. Tomorrow will be cooler (though not bad) and there’s a chance of some snow over the next few days.

But today it was possible to pretend the whole thing was over.

As I took my constitutional, I saw two people I also saw last night. Last night I took them for a mother and her little boy.

Today I got closer and realized the mother was a young guy. And the little boy was his girlfriend.

That’s pretty much all the proof I need, isn’t it? I’m officially a codger.

Movie advice (from a guy who almost never goes to them anymore): If you enjoyed 300 and want to find more of the same, and if you check out movies starring Gerard Butler on Netflix, and you see that he did one called Beowulf, and you think, “Hey, another great action movie with swords, starring the same guy!”—take it from me. Don’t waste your money.

My review of Beowulf is here.

I’m considering devoting the rest of my life to destroying the market for that particular irritating piece of political correctness.

Being a codger now, I have to take my pleasures where I can.

Sorry I’m late. I interviewed a prospective renter this evening (yes, I finally got a call). I’m not going to describe him, because he might be whacko, or he might be a saint. Or neither. But if he’s a saint I don’t want to be talking behind his back.

We ended the meeting on an ambivalent note. One of us may call the other, or not.

The weather has been beautiful, in terms of air-to-skin compatibility and sun-to-earth face time. It was my weekend on set-up team at church, which is always a drag, but when I came back from church on Sunday, my obligation fulfilled, I noticed the bank thermometer said 50°. I went to the local Chinese buffet I just discovered (not the one I told you about before, where the hostess is cute but the food marginal; the hostess at this one is less cute but the food is much better). Then, to make the day perfect, I noticed that the local Dairy Queen has reopened for the spring, so I was able to buy my traditional after-Sunday-lunch Dilly Bar (you’ve got to get the kind made in the store; the factory-made ones in cellophane wrappers aren’t worth the trouble). So the day was perfect. I love Sunday afternoons. I made a commitment years ago that, since I considered myself a professional writer, I wouldn’t write for money on Sundays. That makes the Lord’s Day a weekly break from (some) guilt for me, and I bless the Lord of Sinai for it.

When I got home from work today, most of the snow had already melted from my front lawn. And my basement hasn’t flooded.

It’s not spring yet, but I’ll take what I can get.

Sorry I’m late. I interviewed a prospective renter this evening (yes, I finally got a call). I’m not going to describe him, because he might be whacko, or he might be a saint. Or neither. But if he’s a saint I don’t want to be talking behind his back.

We ended the meeting on an ambivalent note. One of us may call the other, or not.

The weather has been beautiful, in terms of air-to-skin compatibility and sun-to-earth face time. It was my weekend on set-up team at church, which is always a drag, but when I came back from church on Sunday, my obligation fulfilled, I noticed the bank thermometer said 50°. I went to the local Chinese buffet I just discovered (not the one I told you about before, where the hostess is cute but the food marginal; the hostess at this one is less cute but the food is much better). Then, to make the day perfect, I noticed that the local Dairy Queen has reopened for the spring, so I was able to buy my traditional after-Sunday-lunch Dilly Bar (you’ve got to get the kind made in the store; the factory-made ones in cellophane wrappers aren’t worth the trouble). So the day was perfect. I love Sunday afternoons. I made a commitment years ago that, since I considered myself a professional writer, I wouldn’t write for money on Sundays. That makes the Lord’s Day a weekly break from (some) guilt for me, and I bless the Lord of Sinai for it.

When I got home from work today, most of the snow had already melted from my front lawn. And my basement hasn’t flooded.

It’s not spring yet, but I’ll take what I can get.

I missed the first conference of the C.S. Lewis Society of Chattanooga, but I plan to make the Twenty-fifth Annual C.S. Lewis Lecture on March 26. Political philosopher Jean Bethke Elshtain will broadly address the topic of Lewis’ abolition of man. It’s free at 7:30 p.m. in Benwood Auditorium at UT-Chattanooga.