In Memory

"In Flanders Fields"
by John McCrae

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow,
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky,
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead.
Short days ago,
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved and now we lie,
In Flanders Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe
To you, from failing hands, we throw,
The torch, be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us, who die,
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow,
In Flanders Fields.

Say "No!" to McCain in 2008

Joe's comments about John McCain and his role in the "great compromise" (lower case and sneer quotes intended) on judicial filibusters were linked to by Howard Kurtz at the Washington Post. The results? A few Lefty-Loons replied to Joe with their typical, lemming-like mantra: Bush bad! Republicans bad! Stupid-dumb warmongers! Theocracy lovers!

In other words, the usual gibberish that makes no sense because it has absolutely no connection to the discussion at hand.

I wonder sometimes if what they screech non-stop even makes sense to them anymore — assuming generously that it did in the first place — or if it's like saying same word repeatedly until the sound of it becomes utter nonsense. Except they can't tell because they're so busy howling, they don't take the time to listen to themselves.

I digress.

Joe's correct. McCain tossed "his allegedly-conservative principles aside for his own self-aggrandizement." But there's a just as recent and even more telling example than the "great compromise," that John McCain's loyalty is to only himself and his political aspirations.

McCain and his fellow "moderate" Ted (Osama Obama Rama-Lama-Ding-Dong) Kennedy are co-sponsors of the Comprehensive Boarder Security & Immigration Reform Bill.

Please don't ask me how another amnesty program for illegal aliens is "immigration reform" because I sure as heck don't know. You would think that the Senator from one of the states being hardest hit by this would take a tough stance against illegals coming into the country. Not John McCain!

Like the filibuster against John Bolton supposedly isn’t one because . . . well, because some simply don’t want to call it what it is especially so soon after the "great compromise," this plan isn’t really another amnesty program for the same reason.

National Review editor Rich Lowry writes:

McCain and Kennedy argue that their legislation isn’t an amnesty because illegals have to pay a $1,000 fine prior to becoming temporary workers and another $1,000 before getting their green cards. But an amnesty with a small fine is still amnesty. Mark Krikorian of the Washington-based Center for Immigration Studies calls the fine, in effect, “a retroactive smuggling fee paid to the U.S. government.”

Also writing for National Review, Krikorian adds in a separate article:

The amnesty part works this way: The former illegal aliens are re-labeled as legal workers; after a six-year period of indenture, payment of some fines, criminal and security background checks, and an English and civics test, they (and their families) get green cards. This is similar to how the last amnesty worked, except for the term of indenture; the 1986 law amnestied those who had already entered the country before a certain date, some four years prior to the law’s passage.

As Krikorian notes, the bill includes an escalator clause to encourage even more illegal immigration and additional enforcement capabilities that will be as ineffective as those added in 1986.

Under the bill, the Federal government will also assume more of the cost states are now bearing for services (health care, law enforcement, and education to name a few) illegals consume in exchange for the supposedly cheap labor they provide.

Not surprisingly, the usual suspects are giving the McCain-Kenndy bill some positive ink. Also not surprising is not everyone in the state McCain was elected to represent are as supportive.

It’s obvious McCain's loyalty is only to himself and his constant pandering has a single, self-serving purpose. A new address in 2009: 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

~~~~~~
Welcome readers coming from Wizbang's Carnival of the Trackbacks!

Dead plastic

I’m really easy to shop for.

Don’t.

That doesn’t mean forget me, but I like gift cards. Love 'em.

No, I don’t want money. I'll tuck it away with the intent of spending it on myself, but then something will blow up and I'll use it for that instead.

I do like people to give it some thought, too. If clothing is what you want to buy me, give me a gift card to clothing store I like. That way I get what styles I prefer in colors that suit me and it fits!

An amazing combination already, what makes it even better is if the store is having a sale. Which for some strange reason happens more often than not because I shop sales.

Da Kid and Herself gave me a gift card for Mothers Day to my all-time favorite place to buy stuff. Clothing? Shoes? Home accessories? No.

Barnes and Nobles. Yes, books.

That card has been sitting in my wallet for over a month now SCREAMING to be set free, but I waited. The time wasn’t right. That changed this morning.

I didn’t see the email because it had been captured by my spam filter. Thank goodness I spotted it in time. In time meaning before the May 31 expiration date of the 15 percent off on whatever I bought from them so long as I purchased it online.

Gift card plus 10 percent member discount plus that 15 percent discount . . . let me think about that for a second. Hmmmmm? Is it the right time to take a few books off my seemingly endless "I WANT!" list or should continue to wait.

Stop rolling your eyes. We both know that that gift card is now history, but dang it. The sales tax bumped it over the card’s value by two dollars and change.

On its way to me are Zell Miller’s Deficit of Decency (I love Zell Miller), Mark Levin’s Men in Black (I love Mark Levin but Zell’s cuter) and They Just Don’t Get It by David Hunt because . . . tell me you wouldn’t you want a book with a blip about it from Publisher’s Weekly that begins, "Hang onto your ball caps and hairpieces, this [book] is going to be monkey-butt ugly."

Of all the books you want if you could buy three right now, which ones would they be?

Jenna is one smart lady.

And she's talented, too.

I've had Polipundit's Kerry Clock in my sidebar since shortly after John-boy promised months ago to finally sign the F-180 that would release his military records to the public.

In a May 24 Boston Globe article, Kerry is quoted as saying he's just signed it!

Really!

Jenna's update of Polipundit's original script reflects this earthshattering news, especially since . . . well, no.

Kerry hasn't had someone mail it for him yet. (That's what peons are for, right? Besides, he has to have someone else to blame when it's never received.)

Kerry explains his staff is still going through it (It's a freekin' form, idiot.) but that "very, very shortly, you will have a chance to see it."

I have this horrible image of Kerry prancing along, hopping and skipping, followed by a gaggle of reporters while he chants:

I signed it.
I signed it.
I green and yellow signed it.
I never said I'd send it in.
So you might as well just drop it."

And if you read the Meet the Press transcript (the link to it is part of Polipundit's original script) carefully, the only thing Kerry actually committed to was signing the F-180.

Quotable Quotes

"Some politicians gripe about all the U.S. debt held by foreigners. Only a politician can have that kind of audacity. Guess who's creating the debt instruments that foreigners hold? If you said it's our profligate Congress, go to the head of the class." - Walter E. Williams

I hate these things!

What Is Your Animal Personality?
brought to you by Quizilla

Via Velociman.

The answers you've been looking for!

After putting my sidebar back together (again) since I don't have a brain left, I'm going to use the opportunity to answer a few of the questions that via various search engines, keep appearing on my log.

Q: What do loons eat?

A: Dunno. Pizza maybe? Let's ask one.

Q: How many boiled peanuts are in a bushel?

A: Never enough during football season if there's a keg.

Q: Picture sex?

A: Yes, but not with you.

No need to thank me. Really!

I'm just glad I could help.

Do you see anything different?

I hope not. It took me all afternoon to put my sidebar back together again.

Yes, again. And this time I really blew the sucker up.

Well, maybe it didn’t take all afternoon, but it sure felt that way.

Have you done a backup on your blog recently?

Cuba Nostalgia

They love the United States and her beacon of freedom that gave them shelter and hope when they fled castro's Cuba.

This weekend many -- like those of us who love where we live now but still recall with with great fondness a place that was our home long ago -- will be celebrating those memories again this year at the Cuba Nostalgia Convention in Miami.

This year's celebration will be a bit different from the ones before it. Babalu's Val Priesto agreed to set up a blogger's booth, the convention's first.

Val got a little carried away. Instead of just a laptop or maybe two . . .

As you get a chance this weekend, please stop by not only to read with Val and others are live blogging but see some of the fun via the webcams.

If you have problems getting through, please check back. Not only will traffic be high but already, their "anti-virus and security software for all the pcs are going absolutely apeshit ... with hack attempts."

Quotable Quotes

"Democrats have a great deal of political power to lose by allowing large numbers of people to reduce their dependence on government" - Ross Kaminsky

"If you asked Americans under 40 today what kind of public pension system they would create if we were starting from scratch, an overwhelming majority of them would tell you that a personal retirement account should figure prominently in the new system. Sadly, the voices of these younger Americans are not well represented in the debate today because there is no well-heeled interest group speaking for them." - Richard Parsons

Both via RealClear Politics

Up yours!

There is no way to describe the physical impact of the World Trade Center when you're looking UP at it: Solid. Strong. Self-Assured. Gutsy. Compelling. Incredible. Maybe even timeless.

Heck, the only way to even get a halfway decent photograph was from a couple of blocks away.

A while back when the first designs were introduced for what will one day take its place on what we now refer to as Ground Zero, I said on a newsgroup (which one doesn't matter) that rebuilding the Twin Towers as they were but stronger and better, would sent a clear message to those who thought their attack would make New York City or the United States cower, trembling in fear.

UP YOURS!

Instead we got the Freedom Tower: Flimsy. Half-hearted. Confused. Pretentious. Ugly. An architectural mishmash of apprehension.

Donald Trump put it much more succinctly when he described the design — already behind schedule and now even more so because of safety issues raised — as "crap".

What is "The Donald" suggesting instead?

Twin Towers II

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Welcome Carnival of the Trackbacks readers!

I got the music in meme

Thanks a bunch, Paula.

Total volume of music files in my computer?

A whole 291 KB, and a couple of the tunes in there are Da Kid's. I'm not anti-music, just anti- music on this pc because of the poor sound quality.

The last CD I bought was:

Heart Like a Wheel, Linda Ronstadt. Really. First came the 8-track, then the album — (Album? Sure shows my age, doesn't it.) — next the cassette, and now the CD.

Song playing right now:
None. I can't work and listen to music at the same time. (And this was work!) Nothing gets done because music always wins.

Five songs I listen to a lot or that mean a lot to me (in no particular order).

Amazing Grace - Judy Collins. (It still gives me chills.)

Born to Run - Emmy Lou Harris. ("Nobody gonna make me do their things their way. By the time they figure it out it's yesterday. Well it comes to he who waits, I know, but I don't need it when I'm old and gray. Yeah, I want it today.")

The Star Spangled Banner - Whitney Houston (No one has ever sung it better or ever will.)

Ya Mama Don't Dance and Ya Daddy Don't Rock and Roll - Kenny Loggins (Beggeth Da Kid desperately and repeatedly years ago at an outdoor concert, "Mother! PLEASE SIT DOWN!")

I need a fifth song? Hmmmmmm... Dunno. Maybe this one?

Which 5 people are you passing this baton to, and why?

Like Jenna, I'm asking for volunteers.

Southern Living

One of the joys of living in the South is torturing fire ants.

If you don't know what fire ants are, please consider yourself most fortunate. If you believe you've been bitten by one, in reality you probably haven't. Something else got you.

Fire ants don't live in cute little ant hills. They build subterranean condominiums called mounds and often, you won't even know that you've accidentally stepped on one. You don't feel the silent, sneaky little bastards . . .

. . . crawling by the hundreds into your shoes, inside your socks, up your pants legs until a myserious signal is sent and as one, they all attack at the same exact instant.

Each bite feels like an individual injection of acid.

And fire ants don't stop biting.

If you see a big macho man down here running in circles, ripping off his clothes screaming "Jesus!" while sobbing for his mother . . .

. . . it's fire ants.

Each bite then swells and within a day or so begins to develop a little pocket of pus.

Each one also ITCHES.

Constantly.

So you scratch and keep scratching ‘til you bleed, the welt scabs over and then starts filling up again.

There all kinds of products on the market with guarantees that IT will kill fire ants. Some even make the claim it will kill the queen.

Kill the queen, kill the mound. Right?

Nah. The best you can hope for is she gets ticked off enough to move her horde into your neighbor’s yard. Unfortunately, your neighbors are also trying to chase theirs into yours.

Even "professional" treatment claims maybe a year before they’re back.

I discovered a new product this year that I really like. The label guarantees it will kill fire ants, and it does! No, it doesn’t eliminate the mounds nor does it claim it will. The instructions on every other product I’ve ever tried said not to disturb the mound during the application process. This one, on the other hand, says after dumping their powder on the mound, to stir it up! Get those ants moving!

Shortly after the angry ants come into contact with this wonderful dust, they begin to twitch. Then stagger. Next, the ants begin clumping together, clutching each other, as they slowly die.

Horribly I hope. The thought fills me with joy.

I cackle madly.

There is hope, however, for those like me who wage a constant, futile battle against fire ants.

One possibility involves a recently-discovered virus that scientists say could be fatal to fire ants.

The other one is a pinhead-size fly and it's much more my style.

The ant senses a split second of unease when a fly deposits an egg in one of the small tubes the ant uses to breathe.

Three weeks later, the inside slowly devoured by the phorid fly's larvae, the fire ant’s head falls off!

CACKLE!.

(Miami Herald sign-in: 1herald@mailinator.com / herald)

WOOF!

This week's Carnival of the Dogs is up at Mickey's Musings.

Yum!

"I, Boudicca, am the hostess this week of the Carnival of the Recipes."

Well done, Boudicca. Well done.

But even if it's a very tame version, Haggiss?

Not me!

I'd heard of it . . .

. . . but I'd never seen it, until just now that is. It's funny what you discover on the Net when you're looking for something else.

I grew up in a small town on Long Island in New York. My mother and her twin sister was raised there, too.

The school they started out in and years later graduated from, was my grade school.

After Mom died and I was back home -- here in Florida -- again, a good friend of hers for most of their lives and I talked on the telephone several times. During one conversation she mentioned a photograph she'd donated that was on one of the walls in the town's public library, along with others showing images of West Babylon's history. Had I had a chance to stop by and see it.

Before she got sick, Mom had mentioned "Aunt Alice" taking her to see it. But . . .

"No, Aunt Alice. I didn't."

Mom, her twin sister Maude and Aunt Alice were all been members of the town's school band. Aunt Alice and "Maudie" both played instruments; Mom had been its drum majorette.

The West Babylon School Band on the steps of the old Main School at the southwest corner of Great East Neck Road and Muncy Avenue, in 1939.
West Babylon Public Library

Save one, I can't positively identify anyone. I know my aunt and my "aunt" are in there, somewhere, but I can't figure out who they are.

I wasn't even certain it was Mom until I happened to notice the shoes.

Saddle shoes.

And I remembered Mom slaving over mine endlessly trying to remove every scuff and mark, while she told me about her saddle shoes. The pair she had when she was young.

Nobody could afford fancy dress-up shoes like that but Mam-ah, squirreling money away, finally had enough to buy each of her twin daughters a pair.

Front row. On the left. My mother was 12.

Quotable Quotes

"Senate Democrats, with clandestine support from State Department and CIA careerists, wage war on foes of normalizing relations with Castro's Cuba." - Robert Novak

Maternal instinct?

Adoption offers are coming in for the 7-pound, 4-ounce infant, dubbed "Angel," who is reportedly doing well.

Angel

Angel was found by a mother whose own babies were already dead or were dying.

Mkombozi

More here and here.

Quotable Quotes

"It would be devastating to the egos of the intelligentsia to realize, much less admit, that businesses have done more to reduce poverty than all the intellectuals put together." - Thomas Sowell.

WOOF!

This week's Carnival of the Dogs is up at Mickey's Musings.

Also at Mickey's . . .

Dear God,

Why do humans smell the flowers, but seldom, if ever, smell one another?

When we get to heaven, can we sit on your couch? Or is it still the same old story?

Why are there cars named after the jaguar, the cougar, the mustang, the colt, the stingray, and the rabbit, but not ONE named for a dog? How often do you see a cougar riding around? We do love a nice ride! Would it be so hard to rename the "Chrysler Eagle" the " Chrysler Beagle"?

If a dog barks his head off in the forest and no human hears him, is he still a bad dog?

The rest is here.

Social Security: The Ponzi Scheme

You've probably seen blog "Carnivals" mentioned and possibly participated in a few. I know I have.

When I do, I feel compelled to check out what everyone else has submitted. Why?

I hope everyone else is, too, so that everyone involved gets -- even if it's only temporary -- a boost in hits. (It also gives me a chance to see what other bloggers are writing about and how.) To top it off, it brings attention to little-known, low-traffic blogs that except for a small circle of regular readers go unnoticed.

Blogs like this one for instance. But, I digress.

I spotted one entry at Wizbang's weekly carnival this morning that I think you should read also. What's it about?

At Vagabondia, The Indigent Blogger writes:

Charles Ponzi couldn't have dreamed up a better scheme. Our government claims 12.4 percent of every worker's wages couched as a retirement investment, then steals from the retirement Trust Fund to mask excessive spending, and guarantees to payback those retirement investments with the power to tax those workers to any extent necessary.

And that's only one paragraph.

You definitely need to read it all.

Answers about mothers

Why did God make mothers?

1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
2. Mostly to clean the house.
3. To help us out of there when we were getting born.

How did God make mothers?

1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.
3. God made my mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.
4. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean.
5. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly use string, I think.

Why did God give you your mother and not some other mom?

1. We're related.
2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's moms like me.

What kind of little girl was your mom?

1. My mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff.
2. I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.
3. They say she used to be nice.

What did mom need to know about dad before she married him?

1. His last name.
2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer?
3. Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?

Why did your mom marry your dad?

1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my mom eats a lot.
2. She got too old to do anything else with him.
3. My grandma says that mom didn't have her thinking cap on.

Who's the boss at your house?

1. Mom doesn't want to be boss, but she has to because dad's such a goof ball.
2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.

What's the difference between moms and dads?
1. Moms work at work & work at home, & dads just go to work at work.
2. Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.
3. Dads are taller & stronger, but moms have all the real power 'cause that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend's.
4. Moms have magic; they make you feel better without medicine.

What does your mom do in her spare time?

1. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long.

What would it take to make your mom perfect?

1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.

If you could change one thing about your mom, what would it be?

1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that.
2. I'd make my mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.

Via: Hey Joe!

What's cooking?

I’m fixing two salads tomorrow (Saturday) in honor of Mother’s Day Sunday.

"Huh?" you’re wondering I’m sure. "You’re not supposed to have to do anything, especially cook!"

Well, I kinda gotta because Herself’s family is having a few people over for a small, intimate lunch to celebrate. In the past it's been a hundred people or so.

(Have I ever mentioned that the family Da Kid is marrying into is . . . uh, rather large?)

Anyway, one salad will be an experiment because I’ve never fixed it before. I saw the recipe somewhere and it sounded interesting so I’m going to give it a try. Not that I remember all of the ingredients, just the main ones but I also recall thinking, "What? No black olives!"

So it’s going to be an experiment and if it works it does. If it doesn’t, with the amount of food I know will already be there, no loss.

The other one is my tried and true Cucumber Salad. When it comes to the ingredients, I wish I had specific amounts but I don’t. I just know when it’s right.

(1) Large, disposable, covered cake pan. Like the ones you see on the grocery aisle with the food wrap? Yep, those. The size works and afterwards you don’t have to worry about chasing down the pan.

The day before the salad is needed, add:

(4) Cucumbers, peeled and sliced. (To give the cukes a prettier appearance, I drag the tines of a fork along the length of each one before slicing. Slice them a little on the thicker side so they’ll remain fairly firm.)

(3) Ripe firm tomatoes, cut into chunks.

(1) Red onion, cut into chunks.

(2) Bell peppers, cut into chunks.

(6) Radishes, sliced.

(4 - 6) Green onions, cut into fairly large chunks.

(3) Ounces of white vinegar

(4) Ounces of olive oil.

And the juice from one lemon.

(If you like celery, add that too slicing it thinly. Carrots? No problem.)

Here’s where the guesswork really comes in. I’m trying to translate from the measuring system I frequently use: the palm of my hand.

Next add:

(2) Tablespoons dill seed.

(1) Teaspoon garlic powder.

(1) Packet of whatever sugar substitute you prefer so long as it’s not that "pink" garbage.

Salt and Pepper, I dunno. I’d suggest one teaspoon of salt, maybe a half teaspoon of pepper.

Mix it all up, cover and refrigerate.

Re-mix and check it a couple of times to see how it’s going. (No, it’s not going to explode.) Taste a cucumber slice.

Too bitter? Add more sugar substitute. Not enough "zing," add a few ounces of pickle juice. Garlic dill, of course.

(You mean you actually have another kind of pickles in your house? Shameful.)

The next day? Wow!

And it even looks pretty. Like I know what I’m doing.

"Ol' Blue"

She still cleans up good for an old gal, but I know her days are numbered.

It was 1992 when Hubby said he was going to look for a used car to replace the ancient and massive gas guzzler he was driving. When it worked, which was becoming less and less between repairs.

I remember asking him why he'd bother looking for a used car. Why not take my car, I asked, and I'd look for something new.

He hesitated, then agreed.

His hesitation wasn't because it didn't make sense. It did. The PimpMobile only had 60,000 miles on her and she'd never given me one bit of trouble. He just thought I'd never give her up.

I didn't want to but knew with what lay ahead, for years to come I'd have to have an extremely reliable vehicle that was easy on the gas. So I went shopping for another Ford Tempo.

It was love at first sight but I turned my back on this one. Walked away. It was much too fancy and expensive. All those buttons and fancy stuff like automatic door locks and windows.

But, there was a huge car sale going on and the dealership needed it gone to make a certain sales number. (They also desperately wanted me gone since I was such a bitch pitting their dealership against others.)

Ultimately The Blue Babe's dealership won and she became mine.

Unlike her predecessor, she was . . . Midnight Blue instead of Dark Canyon Red. And a V6 rather than a 4, not that that made any difference to me until I HAD to hit the gas to avoid getting creamed and discovered it.

I also raised Da Kid in her starting when she had only 14 miles on her odometer and he was just starting out in middle school.

Monday through Friday we three toured J'ville daily for years, traveling from home to his school (whichever one or wherever) before I dropped him off and then headed to work. In the afternoon, the reverse.

Two hundred miles a day, day in and day out. Even more when he had a soccer / baseball / softball / basketball game, or the library because he had a project, or . . .

Hubby would probably have had a heart attack if he knew what Da Kid and I talked about sometimes. What we said between us in the car, stayed there.

In between, I don't know how many times The Babe took Da Kid and me to Orlando, Atlanta, Ocala . . . wherever we wanted to go. Camping one time out in the middle of no where, strapped to her luggage rack and crammed inside her everything imaginable we — including Lucky (S.O.B.) Lab who had about a square foot of space on the back seat upon which to sit during the trip — might need.

Da Kid introduced me to Weird Al on one trip. And Metallica. In return, I introduced him to George Gershwin and Rhapsody in Blue. And Kenny Loggins.

Other times it was just Blue and me. I won't even try to estimate how many books-on-tape I "read." Or how many hours of cassette music I sang along with. Or to in a starring role.

"Four down, two up . . . that last one? Wherever it'll fit." That's the loading instructions the people I've bought horse feed from over the years came to know when stacking the 50-pound sacks onto Ol' Blue's back seat. Every two weeks, for years.

Hay in a pinch? Open her trunk and straight in, two bales fit. Not inside but angled in with the open trunk lid up holding them in place. So whut if I can't see out the back window!

And not that many years ago early one morning I didn't like what I saw, and somehow managed to get Da Kid — now grown — into Ol' Blue's back seat. Destination: Shands Trauma Center.

"‘Mom,'" somebody there said a few hours later. "You made a good call."

I didn't find out until later that the night before, Da Kid had collided with another player on a softball field.

He spent the next week in ICU. He'd lacerated his spleen.

Ol' Blue has served me . . . she's served us well and faithfully. But she's tired. Very tired. She's been telling me that for a while now.

Blue Book says her trade-in value is $350.

To me she's priceless.

But it's time to start looking.

Zoom-Zoom

Drilling for oil in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR) was finally approved.

The Enviro-Nuts continue their caterwauling: Alaska will be destroyed, the pristine nature of ANWR will be destroyed, caribou will be destroyed, mosquitoes will be dest . . .

(The Enviro-Nuts really didn't mention mosquitoes but in the spirit of total disclosure, since I'm in Florida I'm for anything that kills 'em.)

So how much of Alaska will actually be affected by drilling in ANWR?

This is Alaska . . .

Notice the areas shown in yellow? Good.

The 'yellow' shown on the left is ANWR only. The 'yellow' on the right shown for comparison purposes only, is THE ENTIRE STATE OF SOUTH CAROLINA!

Now, let us look at ANWR itself . . .

Next, please note the area shown in green. That is the part of ANWR referred to as the Coastal Plain, a more picturesque area you'll never find . . . according to the Enviro-Nuts.

Also clearly shown in the above image is the area inside the Coastal Plain where the drilling will occur.

Stop squinting. I said stop!

This should make it easier for you.

Now, look for the widdle red box. Do you see it?

Excellent!

That's the entire surface area (2000 acres or 3.13 square miles) that will be used for drilling in ANWR.

"But it's pristine!" the Enviro-Nuts squawk.

Of course, they've never been there themselves. Not that I blame 'em any. I don't 'do' hellholes, myself.

But in 2001, NRO's Jonah Goldberg did.

Later: The source for the maps I used is ANWR.org.

~~~~~~~~~
Welcome readers coming from Carnival of the Trackbacks!

The ‘Jessica Lunsford Act' becomes law

Jeb signed the Jessica Lunsford Act into law yesterday, making Florida's law dealing with sexual offenders / sexual predators -- which had been described by some as already among the "sternest" in the country -- even stronger.

Among the changes that become effective September 1:

- Establishment a mandatory sentence of 25 years to life behind bars for people convicted of certain sex crimes against children 11 and younger, with lifetime tracking by GPS after they are freed.

- Mandate lifetime GPS tracking of those offenders previously released who violate the terms of their probation.

- Criminalize the act of harboring a sex offender without notifying law enforcement.

- Allow judges and juries to consider someone's sexual predator status as an aggravating factor in death penalty cases.

Interviewed after the signing which he attended, Mark, Jessica Lunsford's father, said the state legislature and the governor had done everything he'd asked them to and did it quickly.

"I couldn't be happier . . . ," he began. And then he stopped. "Yes I could," he continued obviously thinking about the loss of his daughter, "but I know it's not going to happen."

Several states are now working on similar laws, and Federal legislation that will also be called "The Jessica Lunsford Act" has been introduced in Congress.

Happy Anniversary!

"It's hard to believe, but it's been six months since Lilly came home with me," Florida Cracker writes in her latest update on the dog she rescued.

And remember, Lilly has a little problem with one leg . . . not that in the photographs it seems to be slowing her down much.

WOOF!

This week's Carnival of the Dogs is up at Mickey's Musings.

Dumb-de-Dumb-Dumb

A shoplifter in a Louisiana supermarket redefines the phrase, Shop 'til you drop.

The Blame Game

I'm so sick of hearing about Jennifer ("The Runaway Bride") Wilbanks.

It was news when she first disappeared. The search being conducted for her was also news, not that it had to be reported every 20 minutes, 24/7, with BREAKING NEWS! every time somebody sneezed.

It was news that she'd been found safe, and that she hadn't been kidnaped but had simply taken off all on her very own. And that should have been it. The end of the story.

But no. Now we have the aftermath. The 24/7 coverage with so-called experts trying to paint this dingbat as a victim.

And as everybody knows, if you have a victim you just gotta find somebody else to blame.

Who put Poor Jennifer into this situation? Her parents, of course. What were they thinking? Didn't they stop to think when they were tallying the bills for her wedding that maybe, just maybe, they might be creating a situation that was too stressful for her? Did they even bother to ask her? I mean, really! Everybody knows how stressful 8 bridal showers are, and then having to face a wedding with 14 grooms and 14 bridesmaids and 600 people invited! My gawd, that poor baby. I bet you they even made her have a ring bearer and flower girl, too. The bastards.

Let's not even talk about her fiancé and his equally insensitive family. Obviously they hadn't made Poor Jennifer feel secure enough, that she knew she could turn to them when she was so in need. I bet you they not only helped pay for the wedding and reception, but probably invited a bunch of people, too. The cads.

The pastor! Let's not let him off the hook. Nope. He's supposed to be a professional, right? Obviously he's not. He should have been able to figure it out that Poor Jennifer was feeling overwhelmed. He should have known. He could have offered her counseling . . . different counseling than he was giving her. That incompetent.

And somebody should get sued, too, so that everyone knows it really wasn't Poor Jennifer's fault that she boogied out of town only days before her wedding on a Greyhound Bus, using a ticket she'd bought days in advance of her disappearance. But it has to be somebody with deep pockets so that the trial lawyers will be fighting to take the case and she can have her pick. (Unless it's too stressful for her to choose, that is.)

It shouldn't be hard for her legal team to figure it out.

The grounds have been established by numerous studies, like the ones claiming that violence on television and in the movies causes violence or that advertisements for sugar-coated cereal make kids fat.

It shouldn't be hard to prove, either, who the primary culprit is and that she didn't think about Poor Jennifer for even a second when she acted. That the thought never crossed her mind how it might affect that poor, stressed-out and totally overwhelmed girl.

To her it was all about the money. Money money money! The heck with those who might be victimized through the false impressions she was creating. The bitch!

Jennifer ("The Runaway Bride") Wilbanks isn't at fault.

Julia Roberts is.

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Hello Wizbang readers!