Recently in Friends Category

by Mark Adams

It's one thing to argue politics, but dealing with an unrepentant racist has it's limits. Racism is not an ideology, it is not a phenomenon of the right or left in this country. It's born of ignorance, hate and loathing.

I really thought we'd seen the last of the crap on Her Majesty's blog since her boyfriend hadn't poked out his ugly head in a while. Much to my chagrin, the same day I check back after a week of being too busy to hang out there, this insufferable pig is back with his top ten reasons everyone with a sense of decency should merely avoid and shun him as well that blog he's ruined unless and until his sickness is treated -- preferably by amputation.

Anyway, that's how I see it. I know a couple of folks already have exiled themselves, and this seems to be the place to be.

So sound off fellow exiles. This time it's not us that got banned, but we banned the SPoDEish blog itself.

[Sorry Ara, but the peoiple have spoken and we like you better! --> IWH]

My friend, Ron Coleman at Likelihood of Success, tagged me in the following exercise:

1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.

Here goes:

The book is Informal Learning, by Jay Cross, subtitled "Rediscovering the natural pathways that inspire innovation and performance." Jay Cross is the guy who coined the phrase "e-Learning," not that you should hold that against him or anything.

Anyway, here's the relevant passage:

The off-site workshop began with two days of PowerPoint presentations in a poorly lit, cavernous room. Then, when senior executives were on a coffee break, Sibbet and Wheeler taped the vision mural to a side wall, since there was no room up front. Because the room was very dark, Sibbet used an overhead projector to spotlight the mural.

Mission accomplished, Ron.

I tag (in alpha order):

• Adam
• double-plus-ungood
• Mark
• shep
• Tim

Please post your stuff (or at least a link to it) in the comments.

(Here's a reprint of a piece I have run every year since 2004 because, well, I fear the consequences if I don't.)

We pause today to recognize Rosemary's birthday. Go on over to her blog and wish her a happy birthday.

I asked her once if there was any truth to the rumor that she was the illegitimate child of Bill Bennett and Janis Joplin. She just smiled and turned away.

Later she came back (tires squealing and guns blazing) and shot out the windshield of my car while I waited at a traffic light.

"Hey you jerkoff! Is it true that you're the bastard spawn of Mort Kondracke and Susan Estrich? Bwahahahahahahaha!"

She let fly with another shotgun blast and blew out my right front passenger window. I ducked. She left skid marks as she fishtailed away from the intersection.

I could hear sirens in the distance and dogs barking. She was long gone. I sat up in the front seat and dusted the broken glass off the dashboard.

Many happy returns, Queen.

P.S. Trivia: Her mother (her real one, not Janis Joplin) loved the classic movie Rose-Marie, starring Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy. You know the one:

Opera singer Marie de Flor (MacDonald) seeks out fugitive brother in the Canadian wilderness. During her trek, she meets a Canadian mountie Sgt. Bruce (Eddy) who is also searching for her brother. Romance ensues, resulting in several love duets between the two.

You know: When I'm Calling You-oo-oo-oo-ooo-oo-oo. OK, you had to be there.

Anyway, they thought "Rosemary" sounded a bit more American, so her parents gave her that name instead.

[I'm reprinting this again this year because, well, I don't want to face the consequences if it doesn't appear.]

Rosemary Esmay's birthday is today. So go on over to her blog and wish her a happy birthday.

I asked her once if there was any truth to the rumor that she was the illegitimate child of Bill Bennett and Janis Joplin. She just smiled and turned away.

Later she came back (tires squealing and guns blazing) and shot out the windshield of my car while I waited at a traffic light.

"Hey you jerkoff! Is it true that you're the bastard spawn of Mort Kondracke and Susan Estrich? Bwahahahahahahaha!"

She let fly with another shotgun blast and blew out my right front passenger window. I ducked. She left skid marks as she pulled away from the intersection.

I could hear sirens in the distance and dogs barking. She was long gone. I sat up in the front seat and dusted the broken glass off the dashboard.

Many happy returns, Queen.

What shocked me most about Elizabeth Edwards' statement today was that her cancer is now considered "treatable" but not "curable." Being the son of a cancer victim myself, I remember that it was chiefly the hope (and belief) that my father was going to pull out of it that kept me going; when he died it was a double shock. Hearing that Mrs. Edwards will live with cancer for the rest of her life was especially discouraging. All the more impressive, then, is her public attitude of en(courage)ment. Not to mention that she is the 57 year old mother of 6- and 8-year old children.

Here's a short anecdote from Ana Marie Cox about what it was like meeting Elizabeth Edwards for the first time:

She was, as most will tell you, animated and interested, very knowledgeable about blogs and quick to laugh. After a bit, she asked if we'd "like to meet John." (Husband and I had hung back, as Edwards was receiving a long line of admirers.) We at first demurred but she sort of pulled us to the head of the informal line and said, "John, I'd like you to meet..." and introduced us.

Anyone who's been around politicians when they're on the job would have recognized the somewhat frozen smile and half-glassy eyes that Edwards then turned on us. He's got charisma, but he's human, and you can't get through years of shaking hands with strangers without developing the ability to do it by rote. But Elizabeth saw that same automatic gesture and she cut him off mid-"how do you do?"

She hit him gently on the arm in a loving, spousal way. "No, John," she said, "I want you to meet them." He looked at her, a little surprised I think, and then broke into a genuine smile as she re-introduced us. It was the difference between shaking hands with a stranger and shaking hands with a friend of a friend. I feel very lucky to have met someone with such heartfelt charm, and I don't mean John.

Doesn't that just make you want to be friends with her? Doesn't it make you feel like you already are?

Hope you and yours have a great holiday!

Click to play...

[I'm reprinting this again this year because, well, I don't want to face the consequences if it doesn't appear. I'm just saying.]

Rosemary Esmay's birthday is today. Go on over to her blog here and wish her a happy birthday.

I asked her once if there was any truth to the rumor that she was the illegitimate child of Bill Bennett and Janis Joplin. She just smiled and turned away.

Later she came back (tires squealing and guns blazing) and shot out the windshield of my car while I waited at a traffic light.

"Hey you jerkoff! Is it true that you're the bastard spawn of Mort Kondracke and Susan Estrich? Bwahahahahahahaha!"

She let fly with another shotgun blast and blew out my right front passenger window. I ducked. She left skid marks as she pulled away from the intersection.

I could hear sirens in the distance and dogs barking. She was long gone. I sat up in the front seat and dusted the broken glass off the dashboard.

Many happy returns, Queen.

If you already haven't done so, check out Detroit Blog. The blogger has been writing some excellent posts (and snapping some excellent pics) documenting my hometown's rendezvous with Super Bowl XL.

The title of this post is lifted from some graffiti I saw as a teenager growing up in Detroit. I was always intrigued by it and much later on, I decided it would make a great epitaph or perhaps even the title of my autobiography (Vol. 1).

(The image on the left [click it] has a similar look and feel. It's from a show featuring murals by local graffiti artists at the Shrangi-La Gallery in the Atlas Building on Gratiot.)

In any case, I recently came across Detroit Blog, which is devoted to "all things Detroit: politics, urban exploration, news, photos, and commentary about the city."

The authors loves Detroit, "even the old Detroit of blight, waste and emptiness. Hockeytown. Motown. I grew up here, had my best times here. It’s my home."

I don't live there any more myself, but I'm proud to say I did grow up (and lived much of my life) there. My kids were born there and my mother still lives there.

Once upon a time, Detroit was American industry. Detroit was American music. Detroit was American sports. Some of the most interesting and vital people in American history are from Detroit.

Me? I'm a proud product of Detroit Public Schools, and if you've got a problem with that, why don't we step outside and discuss it?

I guess as long as any of my family still live there, I'll miss it.

P.S. You can take the boy out of the city...and so forth and so on.