Snerk

Maybe if the nation's children were told the President of the United States gets to play with ginourmous bulldozers there would be more interest in that career choice. What amused me about this little nugget, besides the huffy it's-all-fun-until-someone-loses-an-eye-especially-if-it's-me tone, is the unconscious revelation that the Press does not, in fact, listen to what the President says. I mean, if someone in the cab of a giant piece of self-propelled machinery told me "I would suggest moving back, I'm about to crank this sucker up" I would, especially if the dozer-jocky was a novice. I suspect the Highly Trained and Professional Journalists did what they always do, which is substitute what they think a microencephalic simian would say -- such as "I don't know how to start this". No wonder they were surprised. But they weren't entirely useless -- they made the President laugh and I'm sure the guy could use a good laugh now and then.

Once upon a time ...

TV used to have fun shows. Your humble Snarkatron does not watch TV any more, having much more worthwhile and enjoyable things to do (work on Death Ray, speak Truth to Moonbats, and if all else fails the kitchen always could use some cleaning.) For some reason a random neuron fired and I remembered one I liked in the misty depths of the past -- Salvage One.

It only ran during 1979, and it combined several elements of success. Andy Griffith, MacGyver-ish clever solutions (before Mr. MacGyver was a twinkle in a scriptwriter's eye, I might add) and, dear to my heart, a female scientist. Who did not wear high heels and need to be rescued every bleeping episode. There's a nice listing of episode summaries here. There was something very appealing about the concept of a home-made rocket that went to the moon to salvage stuff.

Of course since I liked it, the suits killed it off. I guess the juvenile-scientist demographic doesn't buy enough stuff. Or we're the kind of smartasses that want to know why the 1 dentist (of 5) DOESN'T recommend BlancoWhitoPuro, and maybe the other 4 were really bad dentists? Rude questions like that make ad writers cranky.

Blood Price

The blogosphere is alight with reaction to Senator Boxer's unfortunate episode vis a vis Secretary of State Rice, and rightly so. But I don't think what was revealed in that little Freudian moment was contempt for unmarried or childless women, but a chilling and inhuman detachment. It appears Senator Boxer feels that if a member of the military is not of your immediate family, their death doesn't matter to you. You don't pay a price. Never mind that those who serve are human, which should provide some kind of bond. Usually. To normal people. Never mind that some of us (even rampaging chickenhawk 101st keyboardists like me) really, actually care about those alleged infants in uniform despite the regrettable fact that none of them share 50% of our DNA. And we weep when they fall. Their injuries pain us. We try to cheer them when they are far from home. The insult Senator Boxer gave Secretary Rice and everyone else who cannot claim close kin in the military is deep and unforgivable.

Sometimes, like Zell Miller, I regret the age of giving challenges is past.

Happy New Year!

It's a wonderful world.