Moving

I'm going to TypePad and never coming back. Comechucka--

Poem of the day

Today's work under consideration is truly a beast--authored by yours truly on an energy drink hangover, instead of doing my Chalk post.

(Poem since removed.)

Oh my. Credit for effort, right? I've heard it gets better from here.

Tab dump

I read two stories today that caught my attention more than most do. (I suppose when the majority of your day is spent perusing Politico and the Daily Dish, these kinds of things stand out in comparison--no offense, Andrew.) Anyway, I wanted to archive them, so instead of saving the text to my hard drive or something like that, I decided to post them here. Isn't that neat.

Mentally Ill and in Immigration Limbo - NYTimes

Looking to Big-Screen E-Readers to Help Save the Daily Press - NYTimes

The irony of the pro-torture argument

From New York Magazine's Who Defends 'Torture'? page:

"Al Qaeda kidnaps Americans, tortures them, then decapitates them on TV. We deprive captives of sleep, push them into walls and put harmless caterpillars that we say are poisonous in their cells. Then we're the ones who are condemned as the worst human-rights violators on the planet." - New York Post editorial

That the authors of the editorial can invite comparison between terrorists and the United States without any shock value on the reader's part illustrates better than anything, I think, why so many around the world see America the way that they do. I hardly ought to have to mention how tragic of an irony that is, but then again, there's too many people who seemed not to have figured it out for themselves.

And I don't mean to channel Shep Smith here--Lord knows there's only one Shep Smith--but the Shining City on a hill does not get compared to terrorists. It just fucking doesn't. Each of the commentators on that list would do well to think about that.

Quote of the day

Today's winner comes from Supreme Court Justice Stephen Breyer, who, aftaer uttering this bit during the debate over the constitutionality of student strip searches, made the entire court room laugh.

“In my experience when I was 8 or 10 or 12 years old, you know, we did take our clothes off once a day [. . .] We changed for gym, O.K.? And in my experience, too, people did sometimes stick things in my underwear.”

Maybe I still have a shot at the Supreme Court, after all.

(H/T: NYT)

Poem of the day: Rock, Paper, Failed Capitalist Society

From today's Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor, a poem that makes up for it's dearth of subtlety with a unique (unfortunately, it really is unique) outlook on work and worth.

Paper, Scissors, Stone

by Tom Wayman

An executive's salary for working with paper
beats the wage in a metal shop operating shears
which beats what a gardener earns arranging stone.

But the pay for a surgeon's use of scissors
is larger than that of a heavy equipment driver removing stone
which in turn beats a secretary's cheque for handling paper.

And, a geologist's hours with stone
nets more than a teacher's with paper
and definitely beats someone's time in a garment factory with scissors.

In addition: to manufacture paper
you need stone to extract metal to fabricate scissors
to cut the product to size.
To make scissors you must have paper to write out the specs
and a whetstone to sharpen the new edges.
Creating gravel, you require the scissor-blades of the crusher
and lots of order forms and invoices at the office.

Thus I believe there is a connection
between things
and not at all like the hierarchy of winners
of a child's game.
When a man starts insisting
he should be paid more than me
because he's more important to the task at hand,
I keep seeing how the whole process collapses
if almost any one of us is missing.
When a woman claims she deserves more money
because she went to school longer,
I remember the taxes I paid to support her education.
Should she benefit twice?
Then there's the guy who demands extra
because he has so much seniority
and understands his work so well
he has ceased to care, does as little as possible,
or refuses to master the latest techniques
the new-hires are required to know.
Even if he's helpful and somehow still curious
after his many years—

Without a machine to precisely measure
how much sweat we each provide
or a contraption hooked up to electrodes in the brain
to record the amount we think,
my getting less than him
and more than her
makes no sense to me.
Surely whatever we do at the job
for our eight hours—as long as it contributes—
has to be worth the same.

And if anyone mentions
this is a nice idea but isn't possible,
consider what we have now:
everybody dissatisfied, continually grumbling and disputing.
No, I'm afraid it's the wage system that doesn't function
except it goes on
and will
until we set to work to stop it

with paper, with scissors, and with stone.

Yes, please

From 101 Cookbooks, the Whiskey & Wheat Berry Salad:

And now I have a project. (Yes, for me it's a project.)