Reuters should rename itself. I expect, though, that if they called themselves "We hate Jews, and you should too News Network," fewer news outlets around the world would buy their stories.
Here's their take on the space shuttle tragedy, specifically, as how it affects Israel:
About the only thing right in that excerpt is that a wave of sorrow engulfed Israelis. But Reuters is spreading the Big Lie that the shuttle broke up over a town called Palestine. In truth, the shuttle broke up within view of many towns, and only an eye for ironyand an anti-Israeli agendacan pretend that the shuttle broke apart exactly over a small town in Texas. From the MSNBC site, the truth:
As of now, there are only a dozen references, but one of those is the New York Times. Wait and see. Watch the lie grow bigger and bolder. It has already spread to the Arab world, with Iraq claiming it as God's punishment on America. Let's see how fast it takes root and grows. permalink
There's an Israeli blog that's linking to me, and damned if I can find the link. I'm so rusty on my Hebrew that the only thing I could figure out was Imshin's link, because the Hebrew for "I am not a fish" is simple enough that, uh, well, the words are in my kids' fourth-grade reader, and we just went over them recently. (I said I was rusty.) Plus, I have to get better at reading Hebrew so I can chant my Haftorah portion in November.
So if any of my readers who are fluent in Hebrew feel like taking a look, I'd be pleased if you could clue me in to which one is my link. They use scripts and call the blogs out by number instead of names, so a look at the source code was fruitless. Of course, the thing I find the neatest about all of this is that my blog is apparently being translated into Hebrew. Way cool.
Oh, and if you're interested, Israblog, my Hebrew name is Miril. Mem, resh, lamed.
One letter I received this morning was titled "Deep sadness." Another "Oh God." Both say succinctly what my thoughts are today.
My heart goes out to the families of all the astronauts. permalink
You know, every so often, a thought hits me, and I need to do some kind of research to follow through with it. Tonight, all of my research involved popular cultureactors, actresses, etc. One of the things I've been wanting to do is see what Andy Hallett, who plays Lorn in Angel, looks like without his makeup. So I found some pictures of the guy. Hey, I knew that was a fake chin, but whattya knowit's his real nose.
Oh, and I found the new times for my cheesy The Lost World television show. I was quite distressed when they replaced it on Saturday afternoons with Soul Train. (Ew.) Ah, TVGuide online. A TV addict's best friend. permalink
Imshin, for those of you new to my weblog, is an Israeli mother who writes about everyday life in Israel. But her everyday life is a little bit different from ours. My previous post suddenly is making a whole lot more sense to me.
One thing can be said about Saddam Hussein: He threatened to attack Israel last time, and followed through on his threats. He will doubtless try again. This time, Israel's hands won't be tied, and her armed forces won't be idle.
But that won't stop me from worrying about Imshin, and everyone else in Israel, on the day we strike Iraq. permalink
I've been rejecting as wishful thinking the theory that Israel is going to take care of the Hizbullah rockets on the border of Syria-occupied Lebanon. But today, Lair pointed out this article in Ha'aretz:
There are thousands of rockets aimed at Israel along the border. Recent shipments from Iran gave Hizbullah rockets that can penetrate to every inch of Israeli territory. They've shot rockets at Israel time and time again, with no answer back, at the urging of the United States.
Now I believe there will be a reckoning. The IAF doesn't fly recon for no reason. And Syria-occupied Lebanon having missiles that can reach deep into Israeli territory is not an act of peace. War is coming. permalink
Here at yourish.com, the management (that's me) has decided to implement a new feature so that the readers (that's you) can get even more meaningless numbers (that's those) thrown at you. That's right, the yourish.com Top 20 Referrers! You're probably thinking, "What the hell does this have to do with me?" Of course, you may also be thinking, "What is she, nuts? Who gives a damn who refers me to her, so long as I'm here?" Or you might even be thinking, "I wonder if she ever blogs in the nude?" (Pervert.)
But hey, WebTrends gives me the top referrers in a nice, neat chart, so of course I have to go through it and take out the duplicates and self-referrals and count the totals and otherwise go through all kinds of procedures just to get it done. But there you have it, in a nice little bundle at the end of the month: The 20 sites that sent the most people here. Click around on the links, most of 'em are on my regular reading list.
A few comments: Blogdex and Daypop were both due to the Carnival of the Vanities. Letter From Gotham is number two this month due to what is known as the Instapundit Echo Effect. She got linked by Instapundit a couple of times last week, and both times, had linked to me in posts directly below or above the Instalink. That was worth over 800 hits in two days.
The Bloggies link generated an overall bump in my stats for a few days afterward, but it's also difficult to tell how big that bump is, because many people took the nominees and put them on their own websites. This stuff fascinates me. I'm an information junkie. I love stats. I know, I know. I'll stop before this turns into too much of a yawner. But check out who's number 11Terry Oglesby, the man behind the Axis of Weevil. There's a lot of power in them Weevilites. I didn't know this until after I joined, of course. Really. Honest. I swear. In fact, check it outDoc Weevil is on the list as well. Who needs Illuminati when you've got Weevils?
There isn't a blogger on that list above that I don't recommend highly. And there, all collected in one easy place, for days when I don't have much to say. permalink
A few days ago, the U.K. newspaper The Independent published this cartoon:
The words, if you can't read them, are "What's wrong? You never seen a politician kissing babies before?" The picture is based on a Goya painting titled "Saturn eating his children."
Yesterday, they published these stories, including a rebuttal/explanation by the cartoonist telling us why this isn't in any way anti-Semitic, and why we're all paranoid Zionist crybabies. Okay, he didn't say that. But he was thinking it.
Ampersand, who is the only cartoonist I know (if only virtually), also wrote about the image's inherent anti-Semitism. Twice. The second time, he addressed Dave Brown's explanation, and found it wanting.
I'm a lot more than disappointed that none of the defenders chose to acknowledge that the blood libel imagery is what makes this cartoon so hateful. But frankly, I'm not surprised, either. Ampersand covers very well my thoughts on the anti-Semitism of this cartoon. His example is quite on the money about intent:
Barry says it so much more intellectually than I had planned. Because to me, there's an easy way to tell if that cartoon is anti-Semitic. The Duck Theory. If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it's a no-brainer.
I won't hold my breath waiting for the Independent to apologize. permalink
It's a cold, wet, icy, snowy day outside. If I were to choose one word to describe it, that word would be: Yucky. (Right now, my mother is so proud that I spent all those years in college as an English major so that I could grasp the subtleties of the language and use them in my writing.)
Exhibit A (left): The scene from my patio. That was taken when it was raining, sleeting, and, just for good measure, snowing. As far as I can figure it, the only liquid precipitation we were missing was oobleck, and let's just count our blessings on that one.
Well, there's something about a lousy day like today that gets my mind in one of those rather scary patterns. Of course, it may well be that I got my mind into that scary pattern because I let Tig out in the snow, and he sat on the cold cement for maybe half a minute before he said, "WTF? Are you nuts?" and made me let him back inside. Gracie, ever the smart one, refused to so much as put a whisker out the door. So there I am, all set to sit down today and do some major catch-up writing. (Can you say, "Inducted into the Axis of Weevil how many days ago and not so much as a thank you to Terry yet?" I knew you could.)
But now I have two cranky, whiny cats on hand, who insisted that I pay attention to them before I could get anything done. Well, okay, it's really not a hardship to get Gracie (right) to chase after the tie to my bathrobe, because she plays so rarely and is so cute when she does. So we took a chase-the-long-wide-thing break for a while, and simply watching her leap and reach out to grab the tie reminded me how incredibly graceful cats can be. There really is no such matching skill in dogs. Don't get me wrong, I like dogs, and dogs can be extremely beautiful to look at (this picture of Worf does show him to be a lean, mean, fighting machine), but dogs cannot compare to the elegance and grace of a cat in motion. The play of muscles even as they simply walk is a delight to behold. When you see them leap onto a seemingly impossibly high surface, or run up a flight of stairs, or, say, get down off the kitchen shelf where they leaped while you weren't looking so as to annoy you with their triumphal yowl that obviously means "HA-ha, I'm up here again!", well, there's just no comparison. Dogs catching frisbees look rather silly, not graceful. Dogs have a number of interesting skills, but cats are poetry in motion.
Oh, come on, admit it. When you watch nature shows, and they have the slow-mo shots of the cheetahs or lions or panthers or tigers running after their prey, you are always aware of exactly how beautiful the big cats are. Their little domestic cousins are much the same, well, except I'm not really worried that my cats will ever rip my arm off, even if it's because I'm feeding them tuna (they're nuts about tuna). They have, however, given me some nasty scratches.
I'm willing to bet that National Geographic could get the same sort of slow-mo footage of either of my cats running after a squirrel. Well, except for the catching and eating part, and, uh, the squirrels do spend an awful lot of time (after my cats chase them) perched high on the fence, swearing down at my cats. Or they might be laughing. I'm not quite sure. You can't really tell with squirrels.
This is a little embarrasing. Of course, there's the Tig Factor (left). I must repeat my adage so that you can understand why Tig is what he is: A fat cat is a happy cat. That is what I learned a long time ago, and a succession of vets lecturing me has done nothing to change my mind. So Tig is far less graceful than Gracie, and, in fact, is as close as they come to a cat being a klutz. I laugh frequently as he misjudges the distance to the bathroom vanity and falls back to the floor. (And yet, he has learned how to jump on the kitchen counter, then onto the two shelves above it until he towers three feet over my head on the top shelf near the ceiling. I need to get a picture of that someday.) Anyway. So here's one of my favorite shots of Tig, in one of his favorite poses. He's actually not just lying there. That's the spot on the patio that he marks with his scent, and I managed to catch him as he rolled around immediately upon being let out. (Obviously, both cat pictures were taken on a nice, warm, sunny day, instead of this super-yucky, nasty, wintry day. Have I mentioned lately how much I hate the cold? Well, then, I hate the cold.) And hey, don't forget, a lot of that belly is fur. He's a Maine Coon cat, he has very long fur. Yeah, that's it. (Shhh.)
When you find Tig in that pose, you may rub his belly, even if he barely knows you. He's a slut who will expose his belly for anyone. Touch Gracie's belly at your own risk. You may only touch my belly if we're dating.
You know, I've always wondered how people have the nerve to touch pregnant women. They're complete strangers, and yet they think they have the right to put their hands on a woman simply because she's pregnant. I figure if I ever do have a child, I'm going to be going to court about once a week, because I'm going to haul off and slug anyone that puts their hand on me without my permission. But I digress again.
Cats. Grace. Snowy day stuck inside. Time to get offline and go make dinner. permalink
A few days ago, someone posted a parody of "If you're happy and you know it" with the end phrase, "Bomb Saddam." Well, it's been rather sitting in my craw since then, and I finally got the cadence down and came up with one of my own.
If Osama is your hero, call jihad
If your ruler's not elected, call jihad
If you sit on top of oil, call jihad
If you want elections later, call jihad
Tim Blair's a very funny guy. He wrote Osama's State of the Union address, and it's hilarious. But then he also linked to this article in the Australian Age, which purports to know the real reason that Australia has hooked up with America to oust Saddam Hussein.
I kid you not.
And the writer is not a crank. He says so himself.
This one is so funny it's fisk-proof. Really. To steal Gary Farber's Read-the-rest rating: What are you waiting for? And don't be drinking anything while you read it. Hell, we should all link to it. This one deserves a Blogdex mention.
Then there's that other Australian blog, run by the Kiwis, Americans, andhey, Alisa, where are you from, anyway? And Wind Rider, who is not only 100% American but who lives about two hours east of me, seems to be doing most of the writing these days. What's up with Tom? Is he that busy, or did you have someone break his fingers so you could take over his blog? (Shut up about the heat, Tom, as it's too effing cold here, although we're starting to warm up. Fifties (F) soon. Spring is just around the corner, thankfully.) permalink
It's up, it's at Dodd's place, and is, as usual, worth a look or three. His icons are much classier than mine, but did you have to include the Lizard King? And put me in that category? Ewwww. Can't you substitute Val Kilmer for that poster? permalink
First, from Imshin, my favorite Israeli mom:
Next, over on Aaron's Rantblog, a collection of pictures of Israelis voting. Men, women, Jews, Arabs, Druseall, as Aaron points out, unable to do the same in Saudi Arabia. Or Iraq, Kuwait, Egypt, Yemen, Jordan, Syria, Syrian-occupied Lebanon... well, you get the picture.
The people spoke in Israel today, and they voted for the people they want to lead their nation. Voting. What a concept, particularly in the Middle East. permalink
From Ariel Sharon's victory speech:
From Arafat and cronies:
Talk to the hand, asshole. permalink
Yes, I've seen the cartoon. No, I'm not really surprised. I spent some time this afternoon fruitlessly looking for the cartoon itself instead of articles about it, then I had to go teach my kids.
I'll have something to say about it tomorrow, probably. permalink
I've been drawing a blank a lot lately when I sit down to write another post. So I figure what is needed is a bit of domesticity. No war, no terror, no anger. Just laundry. And cat hair. When you have a cat, cat hair is ubiquitous. (Wow, that word is so much easier to say than it is to spell.)
The way it works in my apartment complex is this: You can bring your own washer/dryer with you, rent one from the management company, or use the laundry rooms sprinkled throughout the complex. I chose to rent. But my washer had serious problems with the spin cycle. I think perhaps the tub spun, but the clothes grabbed hold of the spinner and stayed still in the middle, giggling quietly so I wouldn't know what they were doing. Because every time a load of laundry finished, I would have to wring out the excess water or set the dryer timer for two or three hours. Especially for the towels. Hoo-wee, towels hold a lot of water. I guess that's why we use them to dry ourselves. And snap each other with in the locker room, according to all the high school shows ever made. (Girls don't do that in locker rooms. I'd tell you what girls do in high school locker rooms, but then the Sisterhood would have to kill me, and then who would write this weblog, hm?) [Update: Natalie Solent had to be captured and re-educated before being allowed to post again. (Good one, they always buy the clone excuse.) I told you I can't tell you.]
Anyway. So I called the service department, and they sent the kind gentleman who fixes the washers, and he fixed it so that it actually spun the water out. (I'm pretty sure I heard the towels swearing up a storm when they were spinning around because I'd ruined their fun, but it might just have been noise from the washer.) Anyway. It worked for one day, then it didn't work again. A few weeks went by, because, well, let's face it. I'm lazy. So I called again the day before the snowstorm, because when I called to report my heat out, the kind lady said, "Is there anything else we can do for you?" and I said, "Now that you mention it," and she got the word out to the kind gentleman who fixes the washers. He showed up before they fixed my heater, in fact. And determined that not only was the washer dead, but the tub was rusted out. He proceeded to write "TUB RUSTED OUT" on the outside of the washer, which mystified me, but I declined to ask, thinking perhaps it was a ritual of washer repairmen and he might not want to share.
So I went about my business until the middle of last week, when I called the kind lady to remind her that I needed a replacement washer, as I was running out of underwear and was unwilling to pay money at the laundromat on top of paying a rental fee each month, and really, bringing my laundry home to my mother is no longer an option now that she lives in New Jersey and I live in Virginia. I suppose I could have brought my laundry over to Heidi's, but I thought I would first try calling the service department and see what was what.
The upshot was that I got a brand-new washer, and I have to wonder about the organizational skills of the service dept. guys who brought it. They knocked on the front door and seemed quite ready to take the washer up the step over the door, down the two steps to the sunken living room, up the two steps to the kitchen, and down the length of the kitchen to the washer hook-up. I looked at them, and looked at the kitchen, and said, "Do you think it would be easier if I opened the back door?" (There's a door right next to the dryer.) It took them about five minutes to figure out how to drive their van behind my apartment building, and then they picked up the old washer and replaced it with the new one in about two minutes. I guess it doesn't take any thinking to physically lift things, and it was pretty obvious where the washer was supposed to go once they removed the old one. Plus, they had the kind gentleman who fixes the washers to help them.
While he was hooking up the washer and testing it, we got into a discussion about various things. Turns out he was in Oklahoma City during the bombing, and he had his theories about who did it. The guv'mint, he said, had a lot of papers about Waco in that Federal Building, and didn't want them getting out. I pointed out that if the guv'mint wanted to destroy evidence, arson was cheaper, easier, and could be done at night so as not to involve killing hundreds of Americans while destroying the evidence. He thought that one over for a minute and allowed that I had a point.
Anyway. I did have some sort of point to make about cat hair. Yesterday, due no doubt to the lure of the new washing machine, which has a really large tub that is big enough to hold a quilt, I found myself washing all my dirty clothes, the towels and sheets that I'd put off washing for a couple of weeks, my terrycloth bathrobe, and then the blankets on my bed, the blankets in the closet, and my sleeping bag. I'm even going to check my lamb's-wool quilt to see if I can wash that, too, or if it needs to be dry-cleaned. (Hell, I'd have washed Tig if I thought I could get away with it.)
You would not believe the amount of cat hair I have removed from the dryer's lint trap after washing and drying all of those blankets. Wow. It was definitely enough to knit a sweater. Maybe two.
And of course, both my cats are sleeping on my bed as I write this, making sure they put the cat hair back on the blankets. Well, no great shakes. I have a brandy-new washer with a deep, large tub that is about five times as noisy as the old one, but which actually spins out the water on the spin cycle so that I can dry things in normal amounts of time.
Now to choose which of the freshly-laundered quilts to choose for sleeping tonight. Maybe I'll just turn down the heat and use them all. permalink
All together now, heave a heavy sigh of regret: The terrorists' convention in Cairo did not do a damned thing to stop terrorist groups from trying to murder Israeli civilians.
No, freakazoid, it's only a natural law to unnatural assholes like you. Oops. I really do need to find my center again. I seem to be a mite touchy these days.
Naaaaaah. It's just my Inner Bitch turning into an Outie.
Translation: "We all want to kill Israelis, we just can't agree on the exact methods. Besides, you stupid Western leftists are going to use this in your anti-Israel propaganda, and that's what the conference was all about. Well, that, and trading the best ways to pack shrapnel in a bomb."
Yeah, my Outer Bitch is on full display today. Perhaps I should snack on some chocolate and see if that makes me any sweeter. permalink
The interviewee is Lt. Col., Ret., Ralph Peters, and you should read the rest. It's extremely uplifting as well as filled with eye-openers:
Put this one in the must-read column.
I had to add this graf. Did I tell you that you really need to read it all?
Let's see. If Shanti is both my and Diane E.'s blogdaughter, does that make Diane and me relations?
Shanti has a new weblog, Real Women Online. It's to showcase little-known women bloggers, and Shanti's got a unique perspective on things that most U.S.-centric weblogs don't have. For starters, she's Indian. Go read this post from her early days to get an idea of what she's all about. She's an excellent source for a different point of view of the Pakistan (and India) Muslim fanatic problem.
On another topic (I forgot to mention this earlier), Diane figured out the problems she was having with her old blog, and is back in her regular Gotham on Blogspot, giving a few people what-for. Looks like the Commies at International A.N.tiS.emitW.E.sR. us pushed Diane into the war camp. permalink
N.Z. Bear has a few questions he'd ask Hans Blix if Da Bear were the U.N. Secretary General. Actually, it's just one. But it's a doozy.
Lynn B. moved off Blogspot and Blogger and onto Blogmosis and Moveable Type. Blogmosis seems to be absorbing an awful lot of ex-blogspotters. Go, Lynn! And while you're there, check out her post on the Palestinian constitution. (And hey, I don't have to worry about Blogspot crapping out on the link. Woo-hoo!)
I caught the commercials for the new Hulk and Daredevil movies. Daredevil is out Feb. 14th (what, a date flick? Are they stupid or something?). The Hulk trailer lookeddisappointing. The Hulk looks like CGI, just like the Green Goblin and Spiderman scenes in the Spidey movie. Guess WETA has the lock on great, realistic CGI, hm? (Gollum.)
If I wanted to see the Hulk as a cartoon character, I'd read the comics in my collection. Here's hoping the effects are better by the time the film is released this summer. permalink
Wow, do I not care about the controversy. I thought I did, last week, but now I don't. Apologies to all of those who do, but even if I wasn't nominated, I simply would not care about the controversy. It's a silly award, and I know it, and Nikolai knows it, and if you don't know it, you should. It's an imperfect process, and everyone who knew about it a year ago knew it was imperfect then, and shouldn't be surprised at the fact that it's still imperfect. Nikolai was just trying to have some fun. People take things so seriously sometimes.
And, uh, folks? If you put the political bloggers in a pie chart of the blogosphere, they would take up about the width of a one-point rule. It looks kinda like this:
That's why your buddies didn't make the cut. Most of the judges and nominating voters probably didn't know they exist. (By the way, the word "Warblogs" above is interchangeable with "techblogs," "leftblogs," "rightblogs," "LiveJournal blogs," and just about any other category you can think of, except perhaps Blogger or Moveable Type blogs, which might be twice as thick.) The reason some other bloggers you never heard of got nominated: Because they campaigned, or someone campaigned for them. I campaigned. Michele campaigned. We got nominated. Mystery, or might it be part of the process? (May I say, "Duh.")
Right now, there are a bunch of flame wars going on in the blogosphere that I think I will not, after all, link to. But I won't be pulling my nomination (best essay about weblogs, "They Don't Get Blog"). In fact, I'd like very much to win, if for no other reason than because I'd like to see if I can beat out the Megnut fans. (She wrote the O'Reilly piece.) I don't think I have that much pull, frankly. But the other reasons I'd like to win: Because it'd be fun. Because it'd get a little more traffic to my site. Because it's a little recognition. And because it'd be fun.
Honestly, I won't be quitting my day job if I win the Bloggy award. Neither will I be going to SXSW, because, well, you have to pay me a lot of money to visit Texas. (Sorry, Lair, sorry, Name-twin. My favorite cousin died in Texas, and I attended her funeral there. That's my last memory of the state, and I'm not going back to make any more.) And I won't be needing cheering up if I don't win the Bloggy, either. If I win, great. I'll call my mother, and tell her "Mom, I won a Bloggy!" and she'll say, "A what?"
You really have to keep this thing in perspective, people. permalink
Another nail in the coffin of those that insist the cause comes first.
Preserved here, for when the picture becomes unavailable, so we can remember the hatred and the bigotry of the anti-war crowd:
The yellow star. The Golden Calf. Tied around the calf's horn and ears is a sheaf of U.S. dollars. I believe that is a club in the hands of "Ariel Sharon," and there are Hebrew letters on his sash, which I can't make out. I'm not quite sure why Donald Rumsfeld is wearing the yellow star, but then, logic generally doesn't go hand-in-hand with anti-globo "peace" protesters.
Disgusting. There's a perfect example of what I wrote about yesterday. You lie down with pigs, you get up covered with muck. The anti-war movement is covered in muck, and has no shame about it.
When even Michael Lerner of Tikkun won't join any ANSWER-sponsored activity, there is something seriously anti-Semitic about these "peace" marchers. Picture thanks to Andrew Sullivan and Glenn Reynolds. Michael Lerner link via Kesher Talk. My anger due to the anti-Semitic scumbags who thought up the above costumes and props. May they die of a heart attack, soon.
Oh. How anti-peace of me. How's this? I hope the two people in this picture are part of the human shield movement, and I really hope they wind up "shielding" a strategic location.
Darn. There goes my warmongering, hateful side again. Whoopsie. It always seems to come out when I see people cheerfully don the clothing and symbols of the massacre of Jews. Bastards.
Update: Apparently, Michael Lerner is willing to lie down with the pigs, thus rendering him trayf. He's a candidate for an early heart attack too, thank you. I've long known Tikkun was in dire need of a reality check, but I didn't realize how badly. permalink
Last week's blogs are archived. Looking for the Buffy Blogburst Index? Here's Israel vs. the world. Here's the Blogathon. The Superhero Dating Ratings are here. If you're looking for something funny, try the Hulk's solution to the Middle East conflict, or Yasser Arafat Secret Phone Transcripts. Iseema bin Laden's diary and The Fudd Doctrine are also good bets if you've never been here before.