Bought one for the house. I was ashamed I had to go find one. Oh, I had a small one we used for July 4th parties, but it had been demeaned by its life as a mere holiday prop. Got a good 3-by 5-foot flag, but didn't consider how I'd get it up without mishap. I know that the flag must never touch the ground, or I'd have to burn it. This would seem counterproductive. The neighbors make a surprise appearance, and I'm in the back yard, shoving the flag into the incinerator. If this event unfolded like most of my home-repair jobs, I'd be heading back to the hardware store three times.

Another flag? the clerk would inquire.

Uh, yes. It's for a friend.

Empathy
Troi proved that empathy is perhaps the lamest psychic power of all, unless your great ambition in life is to listen to people complain about their failed relationships. In normal life, the ability to tell that the latte wrangler across the counter resents your indecision on flavored syrup is no help to either of you.  D

This morning I heard a commentator pronounce "Taliban" as "Tollybon," and instantly I sang a Harry Belefonte song. Let's call it it Pray-O, the theme song of the Pakistan delegation to Afghanistan earnestly trying to change their minds:

Come mister Taliban / give us this Bin Laden
US bomb and we want to have home

For most of my life, the American flag has been the cultural property of people I can't stand: right-wingers, jingoists, know-nothing zealots. It's something that hypocritical politicians wrap themselves in. It's something that certain legislators would make it a crime to burn -- a position that's an assault on the very freedom that the flag represents. It's something brandished at times like these by idiots who say things like, "Let's go over there and burn those rag-heads!"

During the Gulf War, I hated the American flag. It was everywhere then, too, on porches and car antennas and over the left breast of every uniformed athlete, all in support of a war I and many others thought to be immoral.

But I also love the flag. Seeing it stirs something in me, even when I'm mad at it, or disagree with those who wave it. I am, after all, an American, and despite being opposed to every single military adventure this nation has undertaken in my lifetime, I'm a patriotic one at that.

For me, though, patriotism is more about the freedom to criticize the government than it is about waving a piece of red, white and blue laundry around and singing "God Bless America." It's about loving our shared national personality -- aggressive, impulsive and open, unimpressed with such Old World nonsense as royalty.

Nostradamus' prediction on WW3:

"In the year of the new century and nine months,
From the sky will come a great King of Terror…
The sky will burn at forty-five degrees.
Fire approaches the great new city…"

"In the city of york [sic] there will be a great collapse,
2 twin brothers torn apart by chaos
while the fortress falls the great leader will succumb
third big war will begin when the big city is burning"

[…]Nostradamus did not write the quatrain now being attributed to him. (One wonders how a guy who died in 1566 could have written an item identified as being penned in 1654 anyway.) It originated with a student at Brock University in Canada in the 1990s, appearing on a web page essay on Nostradamus. That particular quatrain was offered by the page's author, Neil Marshall, as a fabricated example to illustrate how easily an important-sounding prophecy can be crafted through the use of abstract imagery. He pointed out how the terms he used were so deliberately vague they could be interpreted to fit any number of cataclysmic events.[…]

Briefly, I was, in fact in our Maiden Lane office approximately 350 meters east of the World Trade Center. By contrast, Ron Conley, in 140 West Street, was much closer since he was directly across the street from the Center - about 10 meters.

I saw a lot of the initial stuff - but never actually saw the planes hit as some of my fellow employees did. I saw the structure of the WTC before the initial collapse, and I saw what the area looked like after the collapse of both towers.

As Dan mentioned to many of you, I went to St. Vincent's hospital (a trauma center), told them that I used to be an EMT, at which time they threw me in an ambulance and shipped me down to the battle zone - which is what I'm assuming it must have looked like since I have never been in combat. I was initially shipped down to Murray Street and West Street. Not more than two blocks away from the stuff. I helped / transported an injured firefighter (I need to find out how he did - I still do not know) and then was sent to a mobile hospital that was set up in a building about 10 blocks north of Tower 7 - that Umbrella Building at North Morton and Greenwich.

I spent several hours there - until 11PM or so, mostly waiting. Sadly, we did not see many patients.

Leo: (July 23-Aug. 22)
By the time your clever ruse is exposed, you'll be safely across the Swiss border, which seems like an excessive response to substituting yogurt for sour cream in recipes.

Libra: (Sept. 23-Oct. 23)
Much to your consternation, you discover that it takes more than nudity, llamas, and gin to scandalize the British consulate.

Sagittarius: (Nov. 22-Dec. 21)
You will be pleased by your appointment as Emperor Of Ice Cream, as you like ice cream and have always wanted to wield authority.

I love the fact that there's a food pavilion. As if you can't gorge yourself to the point of intestinal rupture every other yard, there's a building where the food vendors are at least 2 feet closer together than outside, permitting you to eat 37 percent more with 43 percent less travel time. Outside this building you'll always find a triage center for the gluttons -- hundreds of brat-plugged, curd-stuffed people groaning in the midday sun, looking like a herd of bison after a train full of sharpshooters passed by. Put your ear to the grease-soaked ground, and you can hear the crickets having myocardial infarctions.

Remember: if your guests are as drunk as you are, just shove stuff in a glass and dump sugar on a plate. They're just going to throw it up anyway.

This one goesh to Betty, whosh alwaysh shaying how much she loves fruit. She oughta, she's married t'one. Here y' go, Bets. Bottomsh up.

If you think it's an artful presentation, just remember, it's ten PM, and you've had a few.