Just Say "No" Carries The Day

The Irish vote down the latest European Union treaty.

So Thursday saw epic collapses by the Mets, the Lakers, and the Euros.  And I'm sitting on the express bus to Schadenfreude City.

Comments

[GMax]

Which has more lives, Jason in a Friday the 13th movie series or the EU treaty? It fails and everyone agrees its dead if it fails, and guess what the next day its like nothing happened and they are going forward. Maybe if the look around they can find some missing ballot boxes and find it has narrowly passed and stopped subjected the Europeans to this torture.

Maybe its more like the Borg, resistance is futile.

[clarice]

Slide over, TM.I smuggled an ice cold pitcher of mojitos onboard and I've a cold glass for you.

[Elliott]

Just Say "No" Carries The Day

Always nice to find a fellow pourer of cold water.

[ML]

Maybe if the look around they can find some missing ballot boxes and find it has narrowly passed

It's Ireland, not Gary Indiana.

[Danube of Thought]

It threatens to outlast the Equal Rights Amendment.

If you've never taken a glance at the EU constitution, do yourself a favor and check it out. The drafters had not the most basic notion of what a constitution is supposed to do.

[hit and run]

Dot:
If you've never taken a glance at the EU constitution, do yourself a favor and check it out.

I must be hitting these beers way too fast.

Because for a second there I thought you just suggested we should spend our Friday night reading the EU constitution?

I'd almost rather listen to Obama for 90 minutes at a Lincoln-Douglas style debate with a focus on race in America.

Or heck, to McCain at the same kind of debate focused on global warming.

[PeterUK]

"The drafters had not the most basic notion of what a constitution is supposed to do."

Unfortunately they did,but were horrified at the lack of scope it gave them.Secondly,if it were too simple people might read it,so to make doubly sure,they had it translated from French to Urdu into Mandarin and back to French by Babelfish.The wretched document was never meant to be understood.
The only thing to know is that it is self amending,no other treaties being necessary.

[GMax]

Because for a second there I thought you just suggested we should spend our Friday night reading the EU constitution?

 

Why do that when you have wall to wall coverage on most networks about Tim Russert. Did you know he proclaimed Obama to be the Dem nominee before anyone?

[Danube of Thought]

Not only that, Hit, I heartily recommend you read it aloud to Mrs. Hit.

[Rick Ballard]

What in the world has Mrs. Hit done to you?

[Jane]

You should all be watching the Open. If you do, you can experience the time of day like DOT does. That should count for something.

[Ann]

WooHoo, Tiger -1

Where is Elliott so I can gloat? :)

[Ann]

Jane,

If you are still around, what do ya think of Adam Scott ?!!

Yawza Matie!

[Jane]

Yikes! Well if you put it that way, he's pretty hot!

How about Tiger on the back nine? Limp and all!

[Ann]

Tiger -2 Helloooooooooooo Elliott!!!

(Jane, I think Elliott is hiding. Go Tiger!)

[Soylent Red]

Well folks, I'm heading out for the evening. And so, to brighten our spirits, I give you my latest opus. It is a long-y, but I've put in a little something for everyone.

I suppose I should dedicate it to Russert. So to the degree that he would approve of it, I do so. I doubt he would approve of much of it.

And now our feature presentation:

Somewhere on the Vatnajokull Glacier, Iceland – 1984

The blizzard was worsening as the Arctic night deepened. The traveler’s cabin along the ancient horse route shuddered under the force of the wind and ice. The old man sighed and turned away from the window. The cabin was lit only by a roaring fire in the large stone fireplace covering one wall, and he was forced to squint while filling his brandy glass. He drew his chair closer to the fired and dozed. And waited.

He was awakened by the sound of the door scraping open, and a blast of frigid air and snow sliding into the room like an icy snake. Two men stepped out of the Icelandic night and into the cabin. They were large men, and obviously not of Nordic descent. By their dress, and by a lifetime of reading National Geographic, the old man judged them to be members of one of the various mountain peoples of the Hindu-Kush. After silently assessing the room, the larger of the two, an enormous man wearing an eyepatch over his left eye, made an almost imperceptible gesture into the howling darkness. As the two men moved to either side of the door, a dark figure stepped through, removed his shiny ermine ushanka, and brushed the melting snow from the shoulders of his black leather duster.

The newcomer turned down his collar to reveal the roundish face of a balding man in his mid-to late-thirties, and spoke softly with a Texas accent. “Dr. Einnarson. I’m so glad you chose to honor our agreement.”

Einnarson, the old man, shuddered and recovered his brandy snifter from the mantle. This man, he thought, holds your daughter’s life in his hands.

The newcomer was obviously aware of the fear, and relished it momentarily before continuing. “The Principals have, I’m sure, informed you of their wishes. This,” he said as he produced a small leather case and handed it to Einnarson, “is the agent you will administer when the baby is born.”

Einnarson wished he had never met the architect and agreed to be his wife's pediatrician. Indeed, he had only done it because the architect was a fellow Dane, and because the mother had been so charming at the screening where they had all met. Now he was committed. He would fly to New York to deliver the baby. And he would administer the agent, to save his own daughter.

Einnarson nodded and accepted the case. As he did, he briefly looked into the cold blue eyes that twinkled back at him. The old man was left with no doubt that he must comply.

“Your daughter will be returned to you upon the fulfillment of the agreement. The Principals asked me to remind you that we will be watching. I maintained that you would need no further…inducement. But they insisted.” The balding man chuckled softly at this, as if he was speaking of a group of cantankerous uncles, and patted the old man on the shoulder with a chubby gloved hand.

At this, the balding man murmured over his shoulder to his associates in Pashtu, and all three turned and left.

The old man walked slowly to the window as the operating lights on a dark helicopter receded into the blizzard. Strange, he thought absently, that I can hardly hear it.

New York City – 1991

The little girl played with her blond hair, while quietly reciting her lines. Her mother had instructed her to be patient, to take her time. Her grandfather, a screenwriter with some experience in dealing with actors, had told her that being prepared was the hallmark of a professional. The little girl wanted to be professional, to please them both.

But it was hard. Sometimes in the afternoon she would be taken from class, away from the other children for “special” instruction. During that time she would sit in a smallish room. A pretty young woman would bring her a glass of bad tasting grape Kool-Aid in a plastic cup and she would watch words and pictures as they were projected on the wall. Most of the time she fell asleep, only to awaken later back in class with her peers.

The acting coach (she called him “The Cowboy” because of the way he talked) never criticized her for this though. He said she was learning while she was sleeping, and that the extra training was to prepare her for her “greatest role”.

Oddly, she could never remember exactly what happened during those sessions. She had tried, but it seemed the more she tried, the less she could remember. Over time she could only dimly remember the soothing voice of The Cowboy.

But she would do what The Cowboy told her to do, and just like he said, not tell mommy and daddy. She would surprise them all when the time came. Until then she would drink the Kool-Aid and learn her lines.

Khartoum, Sudan -2008

The young man was scared. From the vantage point of the rooftop he could see the men searching for him. Boys really, and younger than him. There were five of them, weaving their way through the crowd like sharks, their black shemaghs betraying their movement.

The young man stepped back from the ledge and looked for a place to hide. There was none, and it would not be long before the child soldiers investigated the rooftops and discovered him. He must find a place to hide until it was safe to continue on to the train station, then on to the safety of his contact in Omdurman. He was considering just where he could hide when he caught a whiff of sweet cigar smoke, and saw the Bald Man standing on an adjacent rooftop in a spectacularly embroidered dishdasha and head scarf. He had been spotted.

He adjusted the straps on his cheap backpack and broke into a dead run as a trio of child soldiers burst through the rooftop door and gave pursuit.

The young man leapt easily across the narrow gap between buildings and dodged a collection of pigeon cages as he made for the next building. Through the adrenaline buzzing in his ears he could hear the distant phutt, phutt of silenced pistols being fired, and the sharp (and much more audible) snap of bullets as they passed by him.

He had been a runner for most of his life, dreaming of one day participating in the Boston Marathon, or even the Olympics. But despite his conditioning, he knew that his pursuers, fueled by copious amounts of qat, would outlast him. He must find a way to evade them.

Angling across the second house, he spotted a narrow iron catwalk leading across another gap and into a tenement. He ran across the noisily protesting catwalk and into the shabby apartment building as the plaster wall behind him exploded from bullet impacts.

He reached the stairwell and ran at full speed down the stairs until reaching an open doorway into the alley. Just outside the door was an ancient and rusty Schwinn bicycle. The young man ran briskly beside it down the alley, then leapt on and began furiously pedaling down the long alley toward the street. Behind him he could hear the sounds of the black-turbaned children receding, and he pedaled faster.

As he steered into the busy street, he quickly put distance and people between himself and his pursuers. Turning down an empty side street, he began to make his way toward the train station, pedaling slower now and catching his heaving breath. Further down the street, he could see a little boy rise from the stoop and move out to the street, waving. He would make it.

The young man thought of his own brothers, and how the money he would make from delivering the file in his backpack would buy them passage to America, away from the war and poverty.

He was coasting now, smiling and reflecting on this, when the little boy at the side of the street produced a length of bicycle chain. He swung it in a broad arc over his head, and brought it slashing across the young man’s left temple as he passed, knocking him from the bicycle and onto the rough pavement. Through a cloud of blood and tears, the young man could see the little boy descending upon him, dropping the chain and drawing a long, curved blade.

Several minutes later a black sedan, escorted by two Hi-Lux technicals, slowed down and pulled up to the little boy standing near the body. A window in the sedan opened and a foil wrapped brick of qat flew out onto the pavement. The little boy looked over his shoulder to where the package lay, and handed the bloody backpack (and the medical file it contained) to the outstretched hand. A small spatter of blood stained the ornate embroidery on the sleeve as the hand brought the backpack into the sedan.

As the convoy left, the little boy picked up the foil package. The profits from its sale would feed his family for a month or more.

Somewhere in West Texas – 2008

The campaign bus roared through the American night. The Candidate, tired from a grueling press conference (eight questions!), settled back into the upholstered seat and sighed. The pulsating metal tube of the campaign bus was, he thought, a lot like him -- overworked by people who needed, and in some cases demanded, satisfaction. Worst of all, he was scheduled to link up with his wife tonight. There was no satisfying her.

He quickly brushed that thought aside. Thinking like that didn’t help his children. Besides, his cell phone was buzzing, quietly alerting him to a text message. He flipped open the phone and smiled. She would meet him after all. He alerted the driver to have a private limo meet them at the next stop. He then told his manager to tell his wife that he was going to discuss strategy with “Steely” Dean tonight until late. Possibly he would not make it home at all. The bus slowed and rolled to a stop, and the candidate stepped out into the humidity and insects. Across the street the coarse and garish lights and sounds of a bowling alley bleated and flashed, and the Candidate felt a wave of nausea come over him.

The limousine pulled up at that moment. The Candidate slipped inside, relieved to return to familiar surroundings. He checked the chilling 40 oz. bottle of Old English, turned up the stereo playing Gil Scott Heron, and splashed on a healthy palmful of Brut. He paused briefly, thinking of his wife, and how she had become an obstacle. The actress had convinced him that his wife was part of the problem, and surely no one could blame him for what he was doing. Certainly the press wouldn’t.

The actress understood that he was the one, and that being with him was her “greatest role”, he thought. The next President of the United States deserved someone who didn’t denigrate him about his dirty socks. After all, thought the candidate, I Am Who I Am.

As the limo pulled away, the bus driver and the manager were inspecting the tires on the campaign bus. They both agreed it would soon need new ones.

[clarice]

Bravo, Soylent!

[hit and run]

DoT (apologies for the lack of capitalization on the 'T' in my last comment, I had an aunt named Dot, what a crazy fun lady she was, but enough about me, let go to your quote):

Not only that, Hit, I heartily recommend you read it aloud to Mrs. Hit.

mrs hit and run and kids are out of town for a week. She should call here in a little bit after putting the kids to bed. I'll go google it and have it ready to read to her as a kind of sweet nothings good night I miss you honey thing.

[clarice]

Heh--I worry somewhat less when you are home alone with the darlings but the thought of you batching it for a week also gives me pause. Please unplug everything, especially the chainsaw.

[clarice]

**I worry somewhat less THAN I DO when you***

[hit and run]

So I shouldn't be blogging here in the bathtub?

[JM Hanes]

Soylent:
You're like water in the desert tonight! And never long-ynough! Anybody ever tell you, you're good at this? Put me on the list for your collection of Bald Man short stories -- seriously, you could do a a series of wild and crazy vignettes and wind up with your own funky cult following. Primary Colors on weed, man.

Hit:
"So I shouldn't be blogging here in the bathtub?"
Depends on how much beer you've got in there with you.

[Sue]

Primary Colors on weed, man.

::grin::

I loved it, Soylent. Do you write books? If not, you are missing some major bucks.

[hit and run]

I have less in here now than earlier.

Much less.

[Elliott]

Soylent,

That was excellent. And I agree entirely with Sue.

[Elliott]

We were treated to nine phenomenal holes from the world's number one player and have a very good leaders board (as the Australian broadcaster say) through two rounds with many fine international players in contention.

I look forward to tomorrow's viewing. I always predict great things for Andres Romero, so I will do that again. I think Sergio Garcia, also well back at this point, could also have a good day tomorrow.

[Jane]

Good Morning,

Elliott, I predict you will be eating your hat by dinner PST - my Tiger is on a roll. And wasn't that an amazing back (AKA front) nine last night.

Nice place you live DoT. Very very nice.

[sbw]

A very good read, Soylent. Thanks!

More!

[clarice]

Czechs say no, too.
Forgetaboutit

[kim]

Vaclav Klaus may be the man of the century. He is all over Anthropogenic Global Warming as an authoritarian power grab. The single most powerful voice of reason in Europe today.
=================

[clarice]

Yes--Maybe in Eastern Europe they can still attract honest men to politics.

[hit and run]

How does one go about nominating a man such as Klaus for a Nobel?

[kim]

Bring Alford back to life.
=============

[PeterUK]

The Telegraph criticism of the EUSSR.

"How does one go about nominating a man such as Klaus for a Nobel?"

Get photographs of him taking a bribe,nothing less will suffice.

[hit and run]

EUSSR...heh!

[Danube of Thought]

Mornin', Jane. Mornin', everybody.

I'm glad the neighborhood is looking so fine on the golf telecast. This is indeed a marvelous place to live, and every time Mrs. Danube and I come across the bridge to our little island town we just tell ourselves how very lucky we are to be here.

All political and sports news is devastatingly bad, so I am going off to the further 50th high school reunion festivities (Coronado High School '58) to flirt with all the ones I missed first time around.

[RichatUF]

Rick,

KSA might be getting a bit scared. And not a moment too soon, the congress might just be getting ancy enough to start allowing drilling with veto proof majorities (especially with the Countrywide Loan Scandal just starting).

graf-

Saudi Arabia is completing a huge expansion program in its oil industry that is expected to bring its production capacity to 12.5 million barrels a day by 2009. As part of that expansion, Saudi Aramco, the country’s national oil company, is planning to start soon an oil field, called Khursaniyah, with a daily production rate of 500,000 barrels.

All told with the 300k they already added plus an extra 500k, they will bring production up by 700k+ above 05 levels. Also noticed this bit tucked in the middle of the article:

graf-

The Saudi plans were disclosed in interviews with several oil traders and analysts who said that Saudi oil officials had privately conveyed their production plans recently to some traders and companies in the United States. The analysts declined to be identified so as not to be cut off from future information from the Saudis.

Wonder if those traders and analysts got that information on the 3rd or 4th of this month?

[hit and run]

DoT:
All political and sports news is devastatingly bad, so I am going off to the further 50th high school reunion festivities (Coronado High School '58) to flirt with all the ones I missed first time around.

Wow, I hadn't even thought about it until reading that. This is my 20th. (Lake Highlands High School, Dallas, TX, '88)

But I won't be attending a reunion. I don't think they can find me.

By design.

[Ann]

" to flirt with all the ones I missed first time around."

DoT, I wish I could see all the women that will be sore they missed you the first time around.

[PeterUK]

Africa appoints Robert Mugabe Democracy Advisor to the EUSSR

[Rick Ballard]

Rich,

Total demand increase for '08 was estimated to be 1 mbd so the 700K+ Saudi increase takes care of 70%. Your theory of state player manipulation is still good - the Iran/Venezuelan cutbacks piggybacked on the KSA cutbacks due to field maintenance may just be an example of marginal players working the margin. The KSA cutbacks were announced far in advance, just as the Azerbaijani and Angolan increase were. It's just simple arithmetic to find a short term supply bottleneck.

As Kazahkstan figures out how to secure a safe delivery route (probably via the Baku-Tbilisi-Ceyhan oil pipeline) the supply side situation improves to the point where the Peakers just look dumb.

And then there are the Brazil discoveries and the investment program by Petrobras which simply dwarfs anything else going on.

Except for the planned refinery expansions around the world, of course. Which just might be a bit dependent upon increases in the total supply of crude in order to actually justify the risk of the investment.

I really hope that Goldman Sachs is in too deep to extract themselves without taking a buzz cut that Yul Brynner would admire.

[GMax]

"How does one go about nominating a man such as Klaus for a Nobel?"

You think so little of the man that you would lump him in with Arafat and Gore?

If I were him, I would be insulted even if I did not show it.

[hit and run]

Good point GMax.

Well, let him make a documentary and win an Oscar!

[Jane]

Have fun at the reunion DOT - I bet those women are still kicking themselves about the one who got a way. Lucky Mrs Dot!

[Elliott]

Hit and Run,

I think you'll like this. We learned yesterday:

Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama on Friday rejected Republican rival John McCain's proposal for 10 joint town-hall appearances, offering instead to have just one on the July 4 holiday.

We learn today:

In her four-minute speech, Mrs. Obama also burnished her patriotic credentials, which have come under attack from various critics. The Tennessee Republican Party aired a video of her saying earlier this year that her husband's candidacy made her proud of her country "for the first time during my adult lifetime."

Mrs. Obama told the elderly audience that her daughter, Malia, "will be 10 on the Fourth of July. Yes, we planned it that way. I cooperated. I was supposed to have her on July 1, but I waited, because my daughter would be more historic."

[kim]

She is lying in order to make a silly point. She had little to do with the onset of labor, and if she had, what does it say that she would deliberately risk the complications of a post term baby.

This is stupid on so many levels I've run out of fingers and toes.
=====================================

[hit and run]

No she di'int.

Seriously. Isn't that a substitute for true patriotism? Did Barack wear a flag pin to Malia's birth?

I, well, I, seriously, I can't, ugh, no, I , fuggin' A, she just fuggin' dragged her daughter into the race.

Joe Liberman mentioned McCain's son serving in Iraq the other day, a passing comment just to reinforce the fact that of course McCain understands the nature of war and the desire to see troops come home safely -- and the press immediately jumped in with, "so is McCain now going to use his son in Iraq in the campaign?"

Yet, here, with both Obamas having legitimate questions about their patriotism (yes, I Questiong Their Patriotism), Michelle tries to use her 10 year old daughter as a campaign prop?

What did Rick say, "I'm almost at the point of disliking that fellow."

And his wife.

...

I need a beer.

[Rick Ballard]

Oh, the wheels on daddy's bus go bumpety-bump - bumpety-bump, bumpety-bump.

Oh, the wheels on daddy's bus go bumpety-bump, all the way down the road.

Heard from the backseat on the way home from another rousing Wright sermon.

I wonder if this is the Michelle that Obama knew? Or was it the other one?

[bad]

I was supposed to have her on July 1, but I waited, because my daughter would be more historic."

Does that mean if one is born on
Christmas Day one is more merry? Or if you are born on Valentine's day you have more heart?

Happy Flag Day!!!

[Elliott]

The July 4th town hall proposal should take him out of the running for father of the year.