Did Shakespeare die of a rare cancer? [Discovery]

Bill Maher’s closing monologue a few nights ago:

“Mr. President, this job can’t be fun for you any more. There’s no more money to spend — you used up all of that. You can’t start another war because you used up the army. And now, darn the luck, the rest of your term has become the Bush family nightmare — helping poor people. Listen to your Mom. The cupboard’s bare, the credit cards maxed out. No one’s speaking to you. Mission accomplished.

“Now it’s time to do what you’ve always done best — lose interest and walk away. Like you did with your military service and the oil company and the baseball team. It’s time. Time to move on and try the next fantasy job. How about cowboy or space man? Now I know what you’re saying — there’s so many other things that you as President could involve yourself in. Please don’t. I know, I know. There’s a lot left to do. There’s a war with Venezuela. Eliminating the sales tax on yachts. Turning the space program over to the
church. And Social Security to Fannie Mae. Giving embryos the vote.

“But, Sir, none of that is going to happen now. Why? Because you govern like Billy Joel drives. You’ve performed so poorly I’m surprised that you haven’t given yourself a medal. You’re a catastrophe that walks like a man. Herbert Hoover was a shitty president, but even he never conceded an entire city to rising water and snakes.

“On your watch, we’ve lost almost all of our allies, the surplus, four airliners, two trade centers, a piece of the Pentagon, and the City of New Orleans. Maybe you’re just not lucky. I’m not saying you don’t love this country. I’m just wondering how much worse it could be if you were on the other side.

“So, yes, God does speak to you. What he is saying is, ‘Take a hint.'”

Bill

My Mom sent me this by e-mail this morning. Handed me a laugh.

Gotta Love The Irish

This is the transcription of the actual radio conversation between the British and the Irish off the coast of Kerry Ireland October 1998. Radio conversation released by the Chief of Naval Operations 10-10-98

IRISH: Please divert your course 15 degrees to the South to avoid a collision.

BRITISH: Recommend you divert your course 15 degrees to the North to avoid a collision.

IRISH: Negative. You will have to divert your course 15 degrees to the South to avoid a collision.

BRITISH: This is the Captain of a British Navy Ship. I say again, divert YOUR course.

IRISH: Negative. I say again, you will have to divert YOUR course.

BRITISH: THIS IS THE AIRCRAFT CARRIER HMS BRITIANNIA! THE SECOND LARGEST SHIP IN THE BRITISH ATLANTIC FLEET. WE ARE ACCOMPANIED BY THREE DESTROYERS, THREE CRUISERS AND NUMEROUS SUPPORT VESSELS. DEMAND YOU CHANGE YOUR COURSE 15 DEGREES NORTH. I SAY AGAIN, THAT IS 15 DEGREES NORTH OR COUNTER MEASURES WILL BE UNDERTAKEN TO ENSURE THE SAFETY OF THIS SHIP.

IRISH: We are a lighthouse…………….Your Call.

If you don’t read anything else today, don’t miss this assessment of Iraq in the NY Times.

Iraq is becoming a country that America should be ashamed to support, let alone occupy. The nation as a whole is sliding closer to open civil war. In its capital, thugs kidnap and torture innocent civilians with impunity, then murder them for their religious beliefs. The rights of women are evaporating. The head of the government is the ally of a radical anti-American cleric who leads a powerful private militia that is behind much of the sectarian terror.

Ever have insomnia? I mean all night, not just a few hours. Me neither, until last night. I took a dose of Tussin CF for a cough, and the damn stuff kept me awake all night. And it’s so nasty to start with, I can barely gag it down. I recommend you live the rest of your life more happily by avoiding this evil goo. I dozed a little before lunch, but had to cancel my biathalon training.

Here’s something to ponder, found while otherwise minding my own business, on the back cover of this month’s Poetry magazine.

Does it seem cruelly inadequate that, out of all those hours these poets spent in solitude and silence, and given all the life they sacrificed for the sake of their work, only a handful of poems, maybe nothing more than a stanza here and there, persist in the consciousness of a later generation?

At Night

I am more human
at night. I smell soft beings
in the wind, and move
carefully through the house
alone.

Sometimes in halfsleep,
I hear my Mother’s voice
call my name, just that,
and I remember the laughter
of dogs.

There is not so much left of
me as you might imagine
from my size,
but I am a man when the sun
is gone.

Let’s go out in the dew
and the soft snore of the freeway,
and I will conjure you owls.

© 2001 by Kyle Kimberlin

Ashes & Snow

Check out this beautiful Web site of photography from an exhibit in Santa Monica. It’s like joining your computer in a meditation on genuine humanity and the humanity of animals.

Received from my buddy at Drachenthrax.

Oh this is rich. And I was just telling myself this afternoon – as I have many times – that I should blog about poetry and writing, which I love, not the stupid war, which I hate. See how long that lasted again?

The lunatics in charge of our transcendently, infinitely stupid army have banned the use of privately bought armor by our troops. First, they won’t furnish our people with what they need, then they won’t let them get their own.

Hey kids, join the Army! And if you don’t get killed, and work your way up to be an officer, you too can be an assclown first class, with friggin oak leaf clusters.

Oh, this
makes
me
mad.

April is the cruelest month. No, that’s not it. Start again.
April is National Poetry Month.
Yay! We used to do readings in April, back in my day. That was nice. Here’s a poem.

Why is our century worse than any other?
Is it that in the stupor of fear and grief
It has plunged its fingers into the blackest ulcer
Yet cannot bring relief?

Westward the sun is dropping,
And the roofs of towns are shining in its light.
Already death is chalking doors with crosses
And calling the ravens and the ravens are in flight.

Anna Akhmatova | 1919

Christianity is not conservative, and America is not Christian. Christianity is about giving and sacrifice. It’s about loving everyone and judging no one. It’s about welcoming and feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, comforting the sick and dying.

If America were a Christian nation, every man with two shirts would send one to Africa. People wouldn’t go to prison for addiction.

If America were Christian, twelve million doors would be open tonight, twelve million tables set and lit, so that every one of the alleged illegal aliens among us would be welcome to supper. Isn’t that what Christ would do? Doesn’t he teach us to set the table and call in from the highways the disenfranchised and poor?

Can you picture Jesus down at the border, nailing up a fence? Does anyone out there think Jesus cares about your green card?

If America were Christian, we wouldn’t need to worry about terrorists coming in with explosives, because we wouldn’t have such enemies in the first place. If we were righteous and loving, we would have only brothers.

Sen. Gary Hart, being interviewed on the Colbert Report, just predicted “the way things are going,” we’ll be in Iraq for twenty years.  Really.  

Is somebody out there sending me psychic pastry?  I’m sitting here in my condo, all the windows and doors shut tight, because it’s a cold and rainy night and I’ve been sick.  I’m in the “penthouse;” nobody else has a kitchen on this floor.  So how is it possible that, a few minutes ago, I smelled baking pastry?  

This could be explained as a simple momentary psychosis, if I were hungry.  I’m not.  So I guess I’d better get some sleep.  

[Just in case I ever run for high public office, I’m kidding.]