Ill-Conceived Holidays…

We are the mediocre Presidents.You won’t find our faces
On Dollars or on Cents.
There’s Taylor, there’s Tyler,
There’s Fillmore and there’s Hayes.
There’s William Henry Harrison,
“I died in thirty days!”
We … are … the …
Adequate, forgettable,
Occasionally regrettable,
Caretaker Presidents of the U–S–A!

[A la The Simpsons from their school play.]

I have had a long-standing beef with some of the national holidays in the United States.  Some holidays are wonderful: Thanksgiving, Independence Day (The 4th Of July), Martin Luther King Jr Day, Veterans and Memorial Days.  The first two I especially love, because they are communal feasts celebrating our unity in overcoming tough situations.  Personally, that’s all a holiday ought to be.  People eating together, happy to have made it this far together.

The holiday in question for today is Presidents Day.  First of all, the grammatical issue at hand is that there is no clear agreement on just where, if at all, an apostrophe should go.  Now, to most SMS-literate-only (text message) folks, this is not a big deal.  After all, they don’t use them, and they know what they mean.  I digress.

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Smiles From the Passed…


[found via The Daily Dish]

All I see is Martin Luther King Jr and Sir Winston Churchill, the latter with a fat, nasty cigar in his mouth and his arm on King’s shoulder, both smiling at this.  (Well, King’s smiling; Churchill’s grinning.)

It has been a very long time since our English-speaking world has had an orator like this.

Passing the Bucks…

Over the past week, the entire Fryer family over here has gotten sick.  First the boy over the weekend, then my wife, and lastly lucky, lucky me.  And joy of joys, it’s been a stomach flu.  At least with a cold one can pump themselves full of enough pharmaceuticals to get by and sleep hard at night.  But no, I got the bugs strong enough to not be killed off by either of my predecessors’ immune systems.
Basically, what it means for this space is that even the more silly thoughts I post up here have not even been conceived.  Sorry, folks.

Just before becoming ill, though, I decided it might be fun to play around with a Twitter account.  Right now, I’m able to add stuff to it easily, but cannot add it to my sidebar on this site.  So if you happen to be just that bored, feel free to look at the randomness spewing from my head.

Oh, one parting thought: why is it when you’re sick, the sounds of joyful play from children makes you want to feed them to the lions?

Artifact Class Assignment…

I do like to try to post what I can of the work I do in school.  So often, schoolwork appears to be nothing other than time spent alone or off somewhere out of sight from daily life.  Nothing is really produced by your presence.
This was what came out of an assignment to creatively create an artifact to represent my education.  What things I learned, how I changed, what affected me inside and outside of school.  For some reason unknown to me, my artifact became a poem.  I can’t really remember the last time I wrote a poem.  It was probably back in high school that I last wrote anything.

Here’s an excerpt:

Then…
Then when I was 17,
It was a very good year.
I read Orwell’s 1984 while near
The fallen Iron Curtain.
I saw the crumbled Wall, the ruins of evil
That compressed humanity.
And there I lived, the foreigner in
A foreign land.
A role I fell into completely.

[Note, I cannot help but put in any small reference/tribute to Frank Sinatra.  Don’t ask why.  Full text after the jump.]

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A Chuckle…

Here’s a chuckle for the educated:

After about an hour, there seemed to be no more questions for him, so Newsweek editor Jon Meacham turned to his audience–about 100 graduate students at Columbia journalism school–and said he had a question for them: Did anyone in the room read Newsweek or Time? There was a small, awkward rumbling before finally, a man shouted, “No!”

Mr. Meacham scanned the audience for his quarry and then asked the journalism student, clad in a black turtleneck, whether he read The Economist. Yes, he did.

“It’s the most talked about and least read magazine,” said Mr. Meacham. “Have you looked at Newsweek?”

That’s the whole thing.  Personally, I’ve never seen a Time magazine outside of a medical office.

What do you think, Dad?  Would you give up your Economist for dual subscriptions to Time and Newsweek?