Alarming News: I like Morgan Freeberg. A lot.
American Digest: And I like this from "The Blog That Nobody Reads", because it is -- mostly -- about me. What can I say? I'm on an ego trip today. It won't last.
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 brilliant.
Dr. Melissa Clouthier: Morgan Freeberg at House of Eratosthenes (pftthats a mouthful) honors big boned women in skimpy clothing. The picture there is priceless--keep scrolling down.
Exile in Portales: Via Gerard: Morgan Freeberg, a guy with a lot to say. And he speaks The Truth...and it's fascinating stuff. Worth a read, or three. Or six.
Just Muttering: Two nice pieces at House of Eratosthenes, one about a perhaps unintended effect of the Enron mess, and one on the Gore-y environ-movie.
Mein Blogovault: Make "the Blog that No One Reads" one of your daily reads.
The Virginian: I know this post will offend some people, but the author makes some good points.
Poetic Justice: Cletus! Ah gots a laiv one fer yew...
To the blogroll this gentleman goes, straight-away.
I love me some Johnny Quest. When I was a kid I envied Johnny but wanted to grow up to be Race Bannon. Race was all man. He could whip anyone in a straight up fight and usually had a firearm close to hand. He wasn’t afraid to use it either. He regularly killed or otherwise caused the death of particularly evil Bad Guys or their Henchmen. Boat, explosion, firearm, tar pit, bridge or cliff, many a monster (both human and inhuman) met their fate at the hands of Race. Johnny, Dr. Quest and Hadji even got in on the action from time to time. The deaths were invariably met with steely resolve and honesty. No guilt or chest beating about the miscreant’s childhood or how it was all society’s fault. “He got what he deserved Johnny.” “There was nothing we could do Johnny.” “It was his choice Johnny.” Johnny was taught that choices have consequences, that right would always triumph and that justice and defense of self and the defenseless were worth fighting and even killing for.
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Every afternoon we’d sit on Papa’s chair and watch together. Where possible, we never missed an episode. Time I cherish, spent with a grandson I love more than my life and a fun part of my job as his grandfather.A small thing without a doubt. There is so much more I have to teach him. I am acutely aware that he’s watching me, soaking in what I do, what I say, how I carry myself and interact with others. He has questions he doesn’t even know to ask. Knowledge he needs but isn’t yet aware of consciously. But he does instinctively know that I have at least some of his answers and he’s determined to get them from me. As I am determined to give them to him. To the best of my ability.
Hat tip to blogger friend Daphne.
Update: Oops, dude’s already there. Well, I shall have to make it a point to visit him more often.
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I’ve threatened to buy some Johnny Quest for my grandson. One too many “Reduce, Reuse, Recycle!” (a philosphy I don’t have any problem with, but the obvious indoctrination is a bit unnerving at 2 years old I think) spewing out of Bob the Builder and “everyone is best” coming from Thomas the Train.
My best friend, back in college, noticed what this guy noticed and wrote a short story about it that is legendary in our small group of friends, involving a mild mannered boy who has to watch The Smurfs but really wants to watch Johnny Quest. His parents leave to run an errand or something, and the channel automatically changes back to the Smurfs from Johnny Quest — and the Smurfs start talking to him, picking a fight. They eventually pop out of the TV and come after him with blue oozies. Anything they hit turns blue and becomes Smurfified. The boy runs to his parents’ room, at first hiding but then finding his father’s rifle or shotgun (can’t remember which. Shotgun would be more entertaining) and proceeds to go through the house slaughtering the Smurfs.
My buddy is very graphic in what I like to call an extremely organic way. 🙂 If you were bugged by the Smurfs, this story was cathartic to say the least.
At the end of the story, the dog, who used to fart at the boy on purpose, suddenly has a new respect for him, and the story closes with his parents coming home to a house with big blue splatters all over it and the boy calmly watching Johnny Quest.
- philmon | 07/05/2010 @ 18:49Ah! Love it!
- mkfreeberg | 07/05/2010 @ 22:01