Nancy Pelosi writes me to say
I assume this is, as usual, an old pun.
Labels: Iraq war
Labels: Iraq war
And "Such criticism isn't worth responding to in detail. If P.Z. Meyers gets as much enjoyment from his belief that all relgious belief is simply congealed ignorance as Jerry Falwell does from his belief that all non-theists are damned, why should I play the spoilsport?"
Translation: "I don't want to be made to look dumb in public by arguing with a sophisticated monomaniac with a degree in hard science (just reading those lengthy posts gives me a headache), so I'll just be contemptuous."
He goes on to off-handedly argue against analytic thought when it comes to belief. Sorry to see Kleiman siding with the UFO, astrology, Scientology, your-favorite-religion-which-you're-sure-is-right-because-of-faith crowd.
The deathgod smiled. "Catch your breath quickly now, while you may," he stated. "Breath is the least appreciated gift of the gods. None sing hymns to it, praising the good air, breathed by king and beggar, master and dog alike. But, oh to be without it! Appreciate each breath, Rild, as though it were your last-- for that one, too, is near at hand!"When a sail isn't catching the wind correctly and as a consequence flaps (as the sails did on our boat), it is said to "luff", which may or may not be related to the German word "Luft", "air". There is some sort of bird in the Galapagos, probably a frigate, that makes a luffing sound by vibrating its neck, maybe as part of a mating ritual. It was a bit like a râle or what I imagine a death rattle sounds like.
London. Michaelmas term lately over, and the Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincoln's Inn Hall. Implacable November weather. As much mud in the streets as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of the earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus, forty feet long or so, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn Hill. Smoke lowering down from chimney-pots, making a soft black drizzle, with flakes of soot in it as big as full-grown snowflakes--gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of the sun. Dogs, undistinguishable in mire. Horses, scarcely better; splashed to their very blinkers. Foot passengers, jostling one another's umbrellas in a general infection of ill temper, and losing their foot-hold at street-corners, where tens of thousands of other foot passengers have been slipping and sliding since the day broke (if this day ever broke), adding new deposits to the crust upon crust of mud, sticking at those points tenaciously to the pavement, and accumulating at compound interest.I was going to quote the next paragraph, but I saw the next few were also as good, and the next few, and ...