Alarming News: I like Morgan Freeberg. A lot.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: We were following a trackback and thinking "hmmm... this is a bloody excellent post!", and then we realized that it was just part III of, well, three...Damn. I wish I'd written those.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: ...I just remembered that I found a new blog a short while ago, House of Eratosthenes, that I really like. I like his common sense approach and his curiosity when it comes to why people believe what they believe rather than just what they believe.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is an intriguing guy...[he] asks great questions and answers others with style, flair, reason and wit. On the blogroll he goes. Make him a part of your regular blogospheric reading. I certainly will.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is brilliant.
Common Sense Junction: Misha @ Anti-Idiotarian never ceases to amaze me. He keeps finding other good blogs. I went over to A.I. this morning for my daily Misha fix and he had found this guy named Morgan Freeberg in Fair Oaks, California, that has a blog, House of Eratosthenes. Freeberg says its "The Blog That Nobody Reads" but it may now become the blog that everybody reads.
Jaded Haven: Good God, Morgan, you cover a topic from front to back with a screwy thoroughness I find mind boggling. I'm in awe of your thought proccesses, my friend, you're an exceptional talent. You start by throwing in the kitchen sink, tie in someone's syphilitic uncle, bend around a rip tide of brilliance and bring it all home in a neat, diamond dripping package of an exceptionally readable moment of damn fine wordsmithing. I love reading you.
Mein Blogovault: Make "the Blog that No One Reads" one of your daily reads.
Philmon: When Morgan meanders, stick with him - he's got a point and it'll be worth it in the end. He's not a hit-and-run snarky quip kind of guy. The pieces all fall into place like tumblers in a lock and bang! He's opened a cognative door for you.
Rightlinx: Morgan at House of Eratosthenes is one of the best writers out there. I read him nearly every day because he manages to provide an interesting perspective, even though I don't always agree.
Poetic Justice: Cletus! Ah gots a laiv one fer yew...
I’m off work.
I left the office Friday, at high noon, to go fetch my son. I stayed overnight in Fernley, NV, then plowed onward to his mother’s place which is in Elko, which is almost Utah.
Listened to The Five Dysfunctions of a Team. I strongly recommend this. Think of it as, in the conflict between Architects and Medicators, this is a productive argument in favor of the way Medicators do things. And I note the irony: Of all the people I’ve met in business who were in greatest need of listening to this audiobook, they were all Medicators. They were trying to achieve the lesson taught here, and somewhere they got off-track and plowed headlong into the opposite direction.
People who live in Folsom, California, drive like idiots. Except for yours truly. But really. Of all the adventures I had over those nine hundred miles, the ones that truly flabbergasted me were on my back fucking porch. Especially that guy in the pickup truck ahead of me on the exit ramp who got a green light, pulled forward twenty feet, and fucking stopped. Dude. Seriously. What the fuck. What the fucking-fuckety-fuck. Just go to the DMV and turn in your license, I’m fucking serious. Fucking asshole. Die in a fucking fire.
Other than that, I haven’t much of an opinion…
Dad can’t make it down from Bellingham. His fleet of cars, most of which are older than me I think, cannot offer a single vessel that is functional. He’s 79 and his upper respiratory system is offering a seasonal challenge; those two factors, by themselves, are very often fatal. He didn’t book his travel when he was supposed to, so he is demanding a commodity demanded by countless others at the same time, which is fiscally impractical, and Whatcom County is at 23 degrees Fahrenheit. Highly unusual. Anyway, our get-together required more advance thinking than it received…so…it’s a bust. Major bummer. The older generation will have to stay holed up 800 miles away, but at least the younger generation is here.
The groceries were delivered today. We have the five pounds of bacon for the TurBaconDucken. We also have massive quantities of foodstuffs for a couple of old people who aren’t going to be here, including an abundance of White Zinfandel.
I see I’m on track to receive 400 blog hits from midnight-to-seven-p.m., which is what I usually collect all day long. During the holidays, I do not like to see this, people. There’s not much to talk about other than Sarah Palin…and you really need to get up off your computers and go spend time with family and friends. Time is fleeting. Come on, altogether now…Start Button…Shut Down. Call a relative, the older the better, get things coordinated. Book a hotel, fly-drive-swim-teleport, whatever, stop off by a local eatery or deli or grocery store and step across their threshold with something nourishing that smells good. Break some bread.
Dredge into some stories about things you lived through together, and share the thoughts you had about it. That’s the best. This thing the reality-teevee people do every fifteen seconds — “When [blank happened], it made me think/feel [thing]” — that’s what you should be doing. Think of some good things to say about those who are now six feet under, how they could’ve handled something, and how they did handle it. And then lift a glass. Leave ’em wanting more, but leave late.
You know that’s what this week is really all about. So c’mon…what are you doing here?
Update: Thanks to Gerard, some footage of traffic in Seattle. This is testimonial to why Dad can’t come…and also why Seattle is recognized less as a brain heartland than as a retirement haven for grown-up hippies.
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