Part of being a good citizen of the blogosphere is visiting, reading and, most importantly, taking the time to leave a comment on other’s blogs. It’s all about the conversation. In the interest of setting an example I’ve decided to link to those blog posts that have compelled me to leave a comment.
My name is Jeff Hess and I’m a biblioholic. I own hundreds of books. Not valuable books, mostly Science Fiction paperbacks and text books, tomes rescued by the bag from library book sales. A few years ago, in the interest of not burying myself, I began reading more books from the library and taking notes. My electronic chapbook was born.
This is a passage I copied from Thrillers: Genesis and Structure of a Popular Genre by Jerry Palmer.
… seek to establish their reputations according to an ideal type: the stand-up cat. p. 37
Part of being a good citizen of the blogosphere is visiting, reading and, most importantly, taking the time to leave a comment on other’s blogs. It’s all about the conversation. In the interest of setting an example I’ve decided to link to those blog posts that have compelled me to leave a comment.
1421 Cyber Space Meditation
1425 Morning Meditation
I double-posted this comment because I realized that while Cee Jay had written the original post, I was about to leave a comment on George’s blog without really letting Cee Jay know my thoughts. This is a practice that I’m going to be mindful of from now on.
The community that has built up around Brewed Fresh Daily is an important one, but we also need to directly acknowledge those who are linked to it
Previously I wrote about how people on the Internet too easily use quotations that they only think are maybe sort of correct. And then they attribute the quote to someone they seem to remember their brother-in-law mentioning was responsible. The result is a nightmare of misquotations and misattributions.
I’ve spent about an hour today trying to find the correct quotation and attribution for this:
It’s not what we don’t know that hurts us, it’s what we do know that’s wrong.
In searching the web I found citations for this and similar statements to: H.L. Mencken; Mark Twain, Will Rogers and Eubie Blake. But in every case there was no citation as to where the quotation originated.
Since I’m sitting up here in the quiet study room of the Cleveland Heights/University Heights main library, I walked away from the keyboard and over to the reference section and pulled copies of Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations, 17th edition; Chambers Dictionary Of Quotations and the Encarta Book Of Quotations.
I first searched the indexes of all three books for references that included either the word know or hurt. Nothing. Next I looked at the complete lists for Mencken; Twain, Rogers and Blake. Again, nothing.
I’m now led to conclude that the quotation is from someone very obscure or may in fact be an unattributable fabrication.
And that sucks.
Anyone out there have any ideas?
CAPT Doug Traversa: Maj R asked me at the last minute to accompany him to a large Afghan army base on the other side of town. We have to travel in pairs, and his NCO was sick. I accepted, as it was a chance to see more of beautiful Afghanistan. Even better, I got to drive an Afghan truck for the first time. It’s just a souped up Ford Ranger, but the Afghan…
I only made one New Year’s resolution this year and that was to give away 150 of my books through Bookcrossing and this morning I tagged and released the first six at the Phoenix Coffeehouse on Lee Road. At the rate of six books a week it will take me another 24 weeks to reach my goal. The first six I set free are:
The Incredulity of Father Brown by G K Chesterton
Poirot Loses a Client by Agatha Christie
The Moving Finger by Agatha Christie
The Mysterious Affair At Styles by Agatha Christie
Dominion by Fred Saberhagen
An Old Friend Of The Family by Fred Saberhagen
Be free little books, be free.
I could never bring myself to forward all the email jokes, cartoons and other Internet comedy that land in my inbox. But then I started posting the ones my dad sends me. Judging from my comments and emails, my dad has become one of my greatest blogging assets. So for your morning blog chuckle I present: From My Dad.
It’s Saturday and your condom of the week is brought to you by Nike!
Poet Sherry Chandler links to a Hal Crowther article on the War in Iraq that is so unabashably George-Bush-Is-The-Most- Horrible-Thing-To-Happen-To-America-Ever that it makes me wince. Yet I can’t fault Crowther for his passion because I think he says what I want to say but won’t because I want to be reasonable.
I need to work on that. Here’ part of what Crowther said:
It’s unbearably true that every American soldier who has died or will die in Iraq will have died in vain, and died in a disaster that will yield no net gain, now or ever, for his native country or for the cause of civilization and human dignity.
If I had any say in divine justice, these thousands of coffins, forged of lead, would be dragged forever across the battlefields of hell by Bush and Rumsfeld and all the civilians who should have known better, or who must have known better and never tried to intervene.
Honest historians will record that a failed government of oil pirates, corporate shills, chicken hawks and neocon fantasists was the worst this country ever endured. But never tell me that Bush and his accomplices, however history makes hash of them, are getting just what they deserve.
What they deserve was suffered instead by tens of thousands of young men and women who are dead, maimed, disfigured and psychologically crippled, victims of the wretched judgment of politicians whose lame schemes and pipe dreams (oil pipes, mostly) they struggled to implement and comprehend.
“All we really do,” one young soldier told a reporter from the Boston Globe, “is drive around here until someone shoots us or blows us up.”
Who will step up to Congress this time to ask: How do you ask a man to be the last man to die in Vietnam — How do you ask a man to be the last man to die for a mistake?
My name is Jeff Hess and I’m a biblioholic. I own hundreds of books. Not valuable books, mostly Science Fiction paperbacks and text books, tomes rescued by the bag from library book sales. A few years ago, in the interest of not burying myself, I began reading more books from the library and taking notes. My electronic chapbook was born.
This is a passage I copied from Thrillers: Genesis and Structure of a Popular Genre by Jerry Palmer.
… when Chandler married Marlow off to Linda Loring at the end of Playback, he was unable to finish the sequel, The Poodle Springs Mystery, and in the surviving fragments of the text the tensions surrounding the idea of a domesticated hero are clear. p. 35
Eric Coulson: I usually write contemporaneously, but this is something that happened several months ago: Ar Ramadi, Iraq. 0300. We left the FOB at 2130, and have been winding our way through the city ever since. We are nearing the end of our route. It is one of our first patrols on the ground in Iraq on our own. No trainers, no unit we are replacing. Just us. Many of the Soldiers…
I’m a big fan of small batch Bourbons. I have a particular love for Knob Creek. Zach Triemert has a master’s degree in brewing and distilling (now there’s a degree I could get behind) and wants to legally expand the use his higher education in Scotland to the Upstream Brewing Company in Omaha, Nebraska, and distill world-class spritis.
From the Associated Press:
[Triemert] wants to add distilled spirits such as rum and whiskey to [the] list of alcohol offerings that are made onsite then sold to customers and wholesalers.
A bill before the Legislature mimics what was done for Nebraska beer makers almost 20 years ago, when restaurants where allowed to craft their own brew. Now there are about a dozen brewpubs in the state.
When Nebraska passed the brewing law, there were about half a dozen similarly run microdistilleries in the country. Today, there are 88, said Bill Owens, president of the American Distilling Institute, who says the sharp increase is part of a general rise in demand for a range of specialty products, from beer to bread.
Big distillers are also cashing in on the demand for high-end booze. While revenues from sales of the cheapest, or “value,” spirits decreased from 2005 to 2006, revenues from the most expensive spirits, called “super premiums,” jumped nearly 19 percent during the same period, according to the Distilled Spirits Council, a trade group that represents mostly large, mainstream distillers.
I think this would be a fantastic idea for Ohio and Cleveland.
I could never bring myself to forward all the email jokes, cartoons and other Internet comedy that land in my inbox. But then I started posting the ones my dad sends me. Judging from my comments and emails, my dad has become one of my greatest blogging assets. So for your morning blog chuckle I present: From My Dad.
My name is Jeff Hess and I’m a biblioholic. I own hundreds of books. Not valuable books, mostly Science Fiction paperbacks and text books, tomes rescued by the bag from library book sales. A few years ago, in the interest of not burying myself, I began reading more books from the library and taking notes. My electronic chapbook was born.
This is a passage I copied from Thrillers: Genesis and Structure of a Popular Genre by Jerry Palmer.
A girl who can be a companion cannot be a lover. p. 34
A purge and a surge? No,
a shuffle and a dribble
to delay evacuation until
a new president takes over.
Call it the Bush legacy.
From Escalation Explanation Ken Duncan.
Part of being a good citizen of the blogosphere is visiting, reading and, most importantly, taking the time to leave a comment on other’s blogs. It’s all about the conversation. In the interest of setting an example I’ve decided to link to those blog posts that have compelled me to leave a comment.
1444 Jury nullification
Teflon Don: The day started at 0630 with a wakeup call and a shivering gasp into the cold air. The heaters in the tents decided that last night was their night off. Brr. Now the tent is heated by body warmth and the one remaining working heater. I lay curled in my bed for a few minutes, trying to will my body warm. Giving up on that idea, I slide quickly into silk weight thermals and…
I’m one-quarter Welsh on my father’s mother’s side (Evans) and of late I’ve been reading more about that part of my heritage. And in the course of those explorations I’ve begun to read Dylan Thomas. Last night I read the the second paragraph of Reminiscences Of Childhood and was struck dumb by the beauty in his words.
I was born in a large Welsh town at the beginning of the Great War – an ugly, lovely town (or so it was and is to me), crawling, sprawling by a long and splendid curving shore where truant boys and sandfield boys and old men from nowhere beachcombed, idled and paddled, watched the dock-bound ships or the ships steaming away into wonder and India; magic and China, countries bright with oranges and loud with lions; threw stones into the sea for the barking outcast dogs; made castles and forts and harbours and race tracks in the sand; and on Saturday summer afternoons listened to the brass band, watched the Punch and Judy, or hung about on the fringes of the crowd to hear the fierce religious speakers who shouted at the sea, as though it were wicked and wrong to roll in and out like that, white-horsed and full of fishes.
I’ve always focused on the German (Hess) part of me, but I’ve begun to wonder if the writer part of me is from my Welsh/Celtic roots.
I could never bring myself to forward all the email jokes, cartoons and other Internet comedy that land in my inbox. But then I started posting the ones my dad sends me. Judging from my comments and emails, my dad has become one of my greatest blogging assets. So for your morning blog chuckle I present: From My Dad.
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