08.30.2004
When asked “Can we win?” the war on terror, Bush said, “I don’t think you can win it. But I think you can create conditions so that the – those who use terror as a tool are – less acceptable in parts of the world.” *
08.31.2004
In a speech before the national convention of the American Legion, the president will make it “crystal clear” that America will win the war on terrorism, White House press secretary Scott McClellan said. “Not only are we winning it, but we will win it,” McClellan said in describing Bush’s speech. *
Yep. Decisiveness. That’s the key, friends.
Fascinating. My employer is one of the first corporations to test the sci-fi wonderment known as a hydrogen fuel cell. Cool.
I’m making an earlier commute this week. There are two reasons. First of all, you’d be surprised at the number of school buses in my neighborhood. Only two or three weeks ago, my morning drive was a consistent 15-minute trip, no matter what time I left the house. Now I have only a finite window, bordered by much-needed sleep on one side and a fleet of creeping yellow Bluebirds on the other. The second reason? The yearly ‘Con is this coming weekend, so I’m banking a little time at work. Projects are underway and I don’t want to return unprepared from Labor Day.
So there I am, safely out of my subdivision, down one road and onto another, when the traffic starts to slow. It’s a feeling, kind of like dread, but not as thick. We all know that lurching that comes with a just-developed traffic situation. And this was happening just a few cars in front of me on Old Alabama. From my point of view, there was a car stopped in front of the Publix shopping center, possibly stalled, certainly flashing hazards. What an unlucky place to drop, I thought. One by one, my fellow motorists renegotiate and creep around this black Volvo. Soon, it will be my turn. The car between me and the Volvo veers into the left lane, a turn lane, so I get to wait just a few seconds more. And then I see her.
She’s got a coffee cup in her hand. Starbucks. Funny, but it makes sense, because there’s a Starbucks right there in the shopping center. Where’s she going? You know, it looks like she’s walking right up to … well, I guess the black Volvo is her car. Imagine that. Maybe she just needed to step into the ‘Bucks on the corner to make a phone call and grabbed a cuppa for her nerves. Sure, that’s got to be … what?
And like nothing ever happened, she gets in her car, turns off her hazards and cruises on down the road.
Feel that? Nice, eh? That’s right, kids. We’ve upgraded to Movable Type 3.0 … ah, what a world of improvement! It’s like … like … oh, well, you know it really doesn’t look that different at all from out here, but it is certainly better on my end. The one thing you probably will notice is something called TypeKey registration. It’s free, first of all. Second of all, it is a brilliant little system that will allow you to login to make comments on any entry on this weblog. Thirdly (and most importantly), by requiring a TypePad login, I should be able to shut down these comment spammers that are constantly attaching unwanted advertisements to my archived entries. Admittedly, I like Texas No-Limit Poker and Region-Free DVDs and Cheap Drugs from Canada as much as the next guy, but I’m not advertising for them.
For now, the commenting system is a hybrid of the old way and the new way. You can either go sign-up for TypeKey and see your comment immediately, or you can comment the old way and see your comment after I approve it. Once everyone has a chance to be all official, I’ll probably make the comments TypeKey-only.
And there you have it. The next entry won’t just be about this silly site nonsense. I promise.
Upon hearing the unfortunate fate of Munch’s painting, my first thought was for the work itself. I believe that there is a little something of the artist himself (or herself) in the pieces they leave, so I can’t help but wonder just how Munch himself would handle the theft. After all, this painting is his ultimate expression of anxiety, born from personal experience. That screaming figure is Munch himself, as it is a recreation of his own existential horror. See what makes this different? So many artists seek out the beauty of life and apply it to staff and canvas, including Munch himself. Yet “The Scream” is anything but. And even after he’d molded paint into nightmare once, he had to do it a second, third and fourth time.
My second thought was for the way “The Scream” has become just another part of popular culture, almost to its detriment. I mean, truly, look at that pale little figure on the bridge. Note the hands on either side of his face. See the gaping mouth. Now, tell me the first thing that comes to mind. Be honest. It’s not the futility of living, is it? No. It’s that damned Home Alone poster.
The third thought was of security. Now, I realize that museum guards in Oslo aren’t packing heat. That’s the Norwegian way and who am I to question their gun policy. But I ask you, any of you who’ve been to the High Museum of Art here in Atlanta, or even the annex down at the Georgia-Pacific Building: Are those guard not the most incredibly vigilant people on the planet or what? If you even so much as exhale within a foot of a hanging artwork, they are on you instantly. And if they can’t stealthilly appear at your elbow, they have a pinpoint way of yelling (politely) directly at you that manages to put you in your place with none of the other patrons ever noticing your mistep. It’s phenomenal, actually. Yet here’s the thing … I have no idea if those guards are armed or not. Their breadth of presence is far more than enough to defend the wares they watch. So maybe, just maybe, the Oslovians need to visit, just to pick up some of the finer tactics of Atlanta’s Museum Finest.
Oft have I seen at some cathedral door
A laborer, pausing in the dust and heat,
Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet
Enter, and cross himself, and on the floor
Kneel to repeat his paternoster o’er;
Far off the noises of the world retreat;
The loud vociferations of the street
Become an undistinguishable roar.
So, as I enter here from day to day,
And leave my burden at this minster gate,
Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed to pray,
The tumult of the time disconsolate
To inarticulate murmurs dies away,
While the eternal ages watch and wait.
A few lines by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, from Six Sonnets on Dante’s Divine Comedy.
Going about my day, stumbling through research and meandering through afternoon meetings, I found this imagined cathedral comforting. Perhaps you will as well.
“It is through the truthful exercising of the best of human qualities – respect for others, honesty about ourselves, faith in our ideals – that we come to life in God’s eyes.”
Bruce Springsteen is stepping up to the plate.
