March 26, 2007


My in-laws have been visiting, so I've been away from the computer. We've seen all the military museums in the area, as one is wont to do in these sorts of towns, and we even managed to be surprised by our visit downtown: in one shop we were treated to a right-wing rant wherein the shopkeeper will shoot Hilary Clinton if she becomes president, and in the next shop we met a gay jeweler who spends his free time either jetting to London or running the local indy theater with his partner. If I were Lileks, I'm sure I could write something really cool about that juxtaposition, but I'm not Lileks, so I'll just have to point out that it takes all kinds in this world, don't it?

Anyway, the husband just found out he's been assigned to be a Farsi speaker. He is ecstatic. Life is good around here.

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March 14, 2007


Did somebody out there buy us a really nice gift? We received a copy of America's Secret War: Inside the Hidden Worldwide Struggle Between America and its Enemies in the mail today, and neither my husband nor I ordered it. And there's no receipt inside the package, so I can't even figure out if it was supposed to go to some other Amazon buyer or something. Anyway, it seemed blog-related, so I wanted to check and make sure none of you sent me a special gift while I try to track down who really was supposed to get this book.

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March 08, 2007


Lileks on parenting:

We stood in the driveway and hacked at the ice with our heels until a yard of rubble cluttered the pavement. I thought of this today while listening to a Medved show about a WaPo piece on marriage; seems only the well-off can marry these days, and the poor decline the opportunity. A caller – male, age 31 – noted how he didn’t want to marry, and didn’t want kids, because they would ruin his freedom. Medved gently pointed out how things change, and gave the fellow a useful piece of news: kids are fun. You never consider that when you’re fancy-free and unburdened with diaper-filling squall-o-matic obligation units, but they’re fun, in ways you can never predict. You fill your day with all sorts of important tasks, but in the end nothing beats standing in the drive way in the wan March light, laughing and cracking the ice. That's the stuff you remember on your deathbed, I'll bet. That's the stuff you remember when you leave the building and strap on the wings.

I made a baby blanket. Now we just have to make the baby.
But I've found a new motto: If at first you don't succeed, drink boatloads of margaritas for 5-7 days and try again.

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