An article on Slate.com from another American journalist with no desire to leave the greatest city in the Middle East. I’m with Faerlie…maybe it’s time to start buying up Lebanese real estate

Thoughts from the frontlines of the war in Lebanon. What I know I’ve included, and what I don’t I’ll leave up to you. Internet has been tough to find but I’ll try to keep things updated as often as I can. For more background on the conflict, check out our ongoing coverage of the Middle East…

Wednesday, July 12, 2006 | 12:01PM

Twelve plus hours after we landed in Beirut, the only civilian airport in the country was bombed by the Israeli Air Force. Apparently Hezbollah commandos crossed the Green Line last night and kidnapped two young Israeli soldiers, just weeks after a soldier was held for ransom by Hamas guerillas in Gaza City. Israel retaliated swiftly by taking half of the Palestinian Authority…

How can you compare the human body to an athletic shoe? Or worse still, the internal combustion engine? Those libertarians over at the Cato Institute have been sniffing some serious salt. With cardiac surgery approaching $100,000 a pop in the hands of the private sector, I’d be willing to bet that a 25-week wait in publicly-funded Sweden sounds pretty damn good to a Mexican waiter in Queens, or a Persian schoolteacher in East L.A. Which raises the obvious question: who’s health in really under the public’s beneficent care? Is it the endlessly wealthy or the helplessly weak? The answer, it turns out, is neither — unless you’re a surgeon or a pharma rep…

BAN KIUKACHAM—It isn’t everywhere you can get a pound of soft narcotics for less than $5. Nor is it everywhere that a mere 2/5ths of the population can read and write in their native tongue. In this forgotten place, nestled deep within the rugged mountains and lush valleys of the Mekong River, the people of Laos have finally found their salvation. This time around, it comes in the form of an untrained, unarmed, unstoppable Canadian philanthropist and, of all things, her schoolhouse full of kids.

It’s early November 2005, on a bitter-cold evening at the Academy of Spherical Arts, Toronto’s reigning upscale hangout for a mix of billiards and business. The room is filled with friends and supporters, family and strangers,…

2005 was a turning point of sorts; more sideways than forward, but welcome in every sense of the word. Writing became a very important priority, and it looks to remain so for quite some time. As I continue to explore the real reason I’m here, in this place, at this time, with ideas that are still begging for a place among the white pages of history, I’ve come to realize something important: thought itself is fleeting without action. In fact, when left alone to brood and fester, thought is the very essence of inertia, like a cold and unmoveable stone, tied to the ankle of every great idea you’ve ever had.

(too-good-to-be-true funny, but not quite suitable for “milder” comic sensibilities…)

From: [a good friend]
Sent: November 2, 2005 6:07 PM
To: [me]
Subject: Re: About as funny as it gets. Fire it up. I am two people removed from it.

[a good friend] wrote:

read…

From: [somebody else]
To: [a good friend's sister]
Subject: FW: About as funny as it gets
Date: Wed, 2 Nov 2005 17:29:52 -0500

So, friends of mine were at The Hunt at Far Hills Race Track in New Jersey this weekend and ran into another friend of theirs with this blonde chick (who I guess he was seeing.) Regardless, read the first email from Elizabeth (the Blonde) and then Brad’s (my friend) response back to her…..too funny to not forward on.

————————————-

Brad,

It would be difficult for me to be any more…

From: J Dyck
Sent: September 22, 2005 5:50 PM
To: d
Subject: RE: NOVA | The Elegant Universe | Watch the Program | PBS

i’m moving on up my brother! went to “scooter school” on saturday…which was largely about watching car crashes (did you know the west german government used LIVE people to test car crashes in the 70s…nothing like watching a blond haired, blue eyed german kid going 30mph into a tree…”dis exhibit iz closed!”). i have a road test scheduled for next month! if all goes well, methinks i may take a week off and scooter around the east coast to check out some MBA schools (don’t say it…i already feel dirty enough). speaking of travels…i’m also thinking of coming up to your neck…

Admit it. When someone or something impresses you twice in a row at your very first introduction, there’s a pretty good chance that you’re gonna remember that person/thing for at least a few seconds more. One recent additions to my own twisted sponge of a memory includes, of all things, The Telecrapper 2000. Now before you pass judgement, let me explain…

THE TELECRAPPER 2000
TELEMARKETER INTERCEPTION SYSTEM

First and foremost, that this product even exists is a thing of supreme beauty. And that it exists for the reason it does (i.e. to combat declining American productivity) is a truly wonderful thing.

You see, the Telecrapper 2000 is an absolute feat of sprawling urban appeal. For years, computer enthusiasts have pocket-protected their way through the…

we all got here somehow. we all bought our own redemption. years of hard work, a well-earned break, and the prospect of great things to come. and now, standing at the crossroads for the very first time, we’re all faced with the exact same decision:

where do we go from here?

any direction is possible. together or alone. the pursuit of happiness can lead us in all sorts of unexpected ways. literally endless possibilities. literally endless opportunities. literally endless combinations. literally endless successes. literally endless new challenges and unseen horizons. expected or not, the future looks bright.

and in the midst of all that seemingly endless happiness, a simple choice appears. a simple plan evolves. a simple decision is made. a simple act…

the word is out. boris the mover is on the scene. practically a legend in downtown circles, boris’s trademark voicemail has already made the internet “rounds”, and even graced the pages the ad mag strategy with a fantastic description of his rather “unique” role in the new world of urban guerilla marketing. so who is boris, exactly? and how did he get his hands on all these numbers? and where in siberia do the movers talk like this?

(this is an exerpt from a short story i wrote way back in high school, inspired by the appauling lack of creativity that’s left in the world)

I gaped, my mouth drawn wide by the magnificence of the building, and wondered why I had never been there before. The incessant sheet of rain falling aimlessly to the ground struck my face as I gazed at the gentle rainbow of light streaming in through the panes of stained glass. It was as if the light was being choked by the air outside, and was only allowed to travel freely once it passed through those coloured walls. Impatient as always, I shook off the spell and pushed open the building’s imperial doors, which swung…

my, how time flies…

may 7, 2005
may 28, 2005
june 7, 2005
june 14, 2005
june 15, 2005
june 15, 2005
june 21, 2005
june 23, 2005
june 29, 2005
august 12, 2005
august 17, 2005
august 31, 2005

kissed my computer screen just now.

turns out i stumbled across (yet another) truly remarkable application of the internet this afternoon.

this time, it all started with a pair of musicians; and a pair of their greatest melodies. when combined, this fantastic foursome managed to distract me (quite easily) from what i was just about to do.

first, out of the cavernous depths of the world wide web, an untouchable brasilian sensation suddenly and irrepressibly emerged. inspired both by regional jazz legends as well as the all-time american greats, flora purim’s early and sensational rise to stardom began while singing over the inexhaustible ivories of keyboarding legend chick corea, and it eventually carried her into the upper strata of brasilian musical circles (a status she has yet…

every parent has been there. the moment when their oldest child first challenges the way they were raised. when the product of years of love, guidance, support and education — not to mention room and board — suddenly blames you for screwing up their entire adolescent existence.

it isn’t that you actively screwed it up either (although in some instances, you very well may have). it isn’t even that you failed to not screw it up when you had the chance (although in some instances, you probably did). when it all comes down to it, the inescapable jaws of the modern parent trap clamp down on your ankle at the exact same same moment you realize just how much “the times”…

When we as human beings reach a certain point in our lives, that point where the road behind seems that much longer than the shrinking road ahead, we’re forced to ask some very serious questions about our place in the world and the legacy we ultimately leave behind. For some, that legacy is a loving family, raised on a basic set of principles that should (hopefully) protect our grandchildren from anything all too unpleasant. For others, that legacy is a catalogue of creative work, remembered both for its contemporary relevance and for its lasting artistic ideal. for others still, that legacy is an empire, built on conquest and military might.

But regardless of where we are in life and what we…

when was the last time you actually looked up? when was the last time you took a really, really good look at the sky? when was the last time you saw a full sunrise? when was the last time you saw a full moon? when was the last time you saw the rusty red sands of faraway mars?

in what might be england’s greatest unsolved mystery since the glory days of holmes and watson, an unidentified man has turned up in the county of kent, washed up on an isolated city beach, dressed in a full suit and matching tie, soaked clear through to the bone, and he hasn’t spoken a single word since his “discovery” almost 6 weeks ago.

what little we actually know about him comes from a series of fairly detailed sketches, first used to help determine if kent’s newest visitor could communicate at all, then encouraged after social workers saw what he was drawning. on the small notepad, in surprisingly fine detail, he had reproduced several impressive pictures of a grand piano, and a flag…

I love my Passat. No one will ever convince me otherwise. In my mind, the Germans still make some of the finest engines in the world. Call it a wartime hobby. Call it competitive advantage. I just really love my car.

But today’s modern automobiles are more than just the moving parts. They’re more than just a great drivetrain. They’re more than just the raw, torquey power that makes that Autobahn so damn fun. Today’s cars are mobile computers. And, to my complete and utter disappointment, the Germans still can’t build a decent P.C.

q: “how do you get from here to mexico?”
a: “keep driving south until someone gives a [bleep] about soccer.”

these days, it’s pretty safe to say that — if given the chance — any red-blooded north american would probably spend their growing stock of entertainment dollars on watching two modern phalanxes slug it out on the gridiron before they sat through 90 minutes of “the beautiful game”. for that matter, they’d likely spend more on bowling or horseracing or the wwe (author’s note: bowling can actually be quite fun). but the simple fact remains: for some strange reason, americans don’t have the patience for the type of strategic posturing and skilled athleticism that gives “european” football its otherwise universal global appeal.

so…

please. do yourself a favour and browse on over to freedom25.com. i can’t believe there’s actually a market for this stuff! just this evening, i was trying to register freedom25.com for myself, as a little “digital reminder” of my own early retirement, so i type in the site (just to be sure that it isn’t already taken…) and…viola! “now you can work on your own terms!” i don’t even know what to say. the 22 year old “woman” is a great first image for the homepage. and i mean that. reality does exist for a growing proportion of women, and men, within my same demographic range, that looks an awful lot like the women and children on that page. the…