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| I'm back, recovering |
| 11.30.04 (8:24 am) [edit] |
Every year I dread going to my Dad's house and spending the holidays with him, my stepmother and her family. Then I chastise myself for being too judgemental and making mountains out of molehills. Then I actually go and do the holiday thing there and it turns even worse than I imagined in the first place.
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| Are you missing posts? |
| 11.19.04 (4:11 am) [edit] |
If you've been posting since before April, 2004 you should check your archives!
Some tBloggers are missing all blogs entries posted before April 1, 2004, and tBlog has remained silent on the issue, supplying neither technical support nor any explanation.
If you want your posts back, you should: --blog about it, spread the word --answer the poll in the Chit-Chat Community Forum, share your loss --post in the help forum, ask for support --PM Rocky, ask for help --post comments on Rocky's blog
Maybe by working together, we can get the support we need!
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| some days |
| 11.15.04 (11:32 am) [edit] |
Some days, I only get one 15-minutes. I'm getting a series of these days in a row. Possibly tomorrow will be better. You'll see me when it is.
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| I can never do as much as I want |
| 11.05.04 (12:43 pm) [edit] |
I did a little work today and now everything hurts like a bad fever. I wish I could have accomplished more. It's very discouraging. [/whine]
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| a bit more optimistic |
| 11.04.04 (2:08 pm) [edit] |
Let America Be America Again Langston Hughes
Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed-- Let it be that great strong land of love Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath, But opportunity is real, and life is free, Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There's never been equality for me, Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars. I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek-- And finding only the same old stupid plan Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope, Tangled in that ancient endless chain Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land! Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need! Of work the men! Of take the pay! Of owning everything for one's own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil. I am the worker sold to the machine. I am the Negro, servant to you all. I am the people, humble, hungry, mean-- Hungry yet today despite the dream. Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers! I am the man who never got ahead, The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream In the Old World while still a serf of kings, Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true, That even yet its mighty daring sings In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned That's made America the land it has become. O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas In search of what I meant to be my home-- For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore, And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea, And torn from Black Africa's strand I came To build a "homeland of the free."
The free?
Who said the free? Not me? Surely not me? The millions on relief today? The millions shot down when we strike? The millions who have nothing for our pay? For all the dreams we've dreamed And all the songs we've sung And all the hopes we've held And all the flags we've hung, The millions who have nothing for our pay-- Except the dream that's almost dead today.
O, let America be America again-- The land that never has been yet-- And yet must be--the land where every man is free. The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME-- Who made America, Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain, Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain, Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose-- The steel of freedom does not stain. From those who live like leeches on the people's lives, We must take back our land again, America!
O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath-- America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death, The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies, We, the people, must redeem The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers. The mountains and the endless plain-- All, all the stretch of these great green states-- And make America again!
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| problem with tBlog |
| 11.04.04 (12:10 pm) [edit] |
I've actually been blogging here since last fall, but you wouldn't know it because all the posts I made from then through the end of March of this year have disappeared. (I stopped blogging in April and only began again in October) The posts were there October 25, because on that day Google made a cache of my site; I first noticed they were missing on November 1. I left a post in the Help Forum and, after two days without a response, I left another post. This morning I sent a PM to Rocky pointing to my Help Forum post and asking that it be looked into. I haven't gotten ANY sort of response, not even a "we're looking into it", and on second look, neither has anyone who has asked for help in the past few weeks.
Why should I renew my ProUser status, or even continue blogging here, when they allow my posts to go missing and won't answer my requests for help?
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| SEPTEMBER 1939 by W. H. Auden |
| 11.03.04 (12:37 pm) [edit] |
SEPTEMBER 1939 W. H. Auden
I sit in one of the dives On Fifty-Second Street Uncertain and afraid As the clever hopes expire Of a low dishonest decade: Waves of anger and fear Circulate over the bright And darkened lands of the earth, Obsessing our private lives; The unmentionable odour of death Offends the September night.
Accurate scholarship can Unearth the whole offence From Luther until now That has driven a culture mad, Find what occurred at Linz , What huge imago made A psychopathic god: I and the public know What all schoolchildren learn, Those to whom evil is done Do evil in return.
Exiled Thucydides knew All that a speech can say About Democracy, And what dictators do, The elderly rubbish they talk To an apathetic grave; Analysed all in his book, The enlightenment driven away, The habit-forming pain, Mismanagement and grief: We must suffer them all again.
Into this neutral air Where blind skyscrapers use Their full height to proclaim The strength of Collective Man, Each language pours its vain Competitive excuse: But who can live for long In an euphoric dream; Out of the mirror they stare, Imperialism's face And the international wrong.
Faces along the bar Cling to their average day: The lights must never go out, The music must always play, All the conventions conspire To make this fort assume The furniture of home; Lest we should see where we are, Lost in a haunted wood, Children afraid of the night Who have never been happy or good.
The windiest militant trash Important Persons shout Is not so crude as our wish: What mad Nijinsky wrote About Diaghilev Is true of the normal heart; For the error bred in the bone Of each woman and each man Craves what it cannot have, Not universal love But to be loved alone.
From the conservative dark Into the ethical life The dense commuters come, Repeating the morning vow; 'I will be true to my wife, I'll concentrate more on my work,' And helpless governors wake To resume their compulsory game: Who can release them now, Who can reach the deaf, Who can speak for the dumb?
All I have is a voice To unfold the folded lie, The romantic lie in the brain Of the sensual man-in-the-street And the lie of Authority Whose buildings grope the sky: There is no such thing as the State And no one exists alone; Hunger allows no choice To the citizen or the police; We must love one another and die .
Defenceless under the night Our world in stupor lies; Yet, dotted everywhere, Ironic points of light Flash out wherever the Just Exchange their messages: May I, composed like them Of Eros and of dust, Beleaguered by the same Negation and despair, Show an affirming flame.
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| woe and lamentations |
| 11.03.04 (7:03 am) [edit] |
Kerry has conceded. So much for "Count every vote; make every vote count."
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| I'm speechless with disappointment, but |
| 11.03.04 (2:45 am) [edit] |
Fafnir over at Fafblog said this in an entry yesterday:
Now that the foreplay of the polls draws to an end and the heady, thumping climax of CNN's election night coverage approaches, it is time for America to prepare itself for the morning after - to greet another President. It is vital that all of us accept his legitimacy, regardless of our party and political affiliation. Indeed, after a long and bloody campaign - one that has riven these once United States into vicious, squabbling factions - the time has come to put aside partisan differences and unite in a spirit of universal brotherhood, and passionately voicing our differences in the spirit and rhetoric of a better, higher discourse, one that respects everyone's right to exist within the American polity.
Ha ha! I jest, of course. Half of you have been absolutely 100% right about who should lead our country, while half of you have been absolutely 100% wrong*. Indeed, the man you voted against today was not merely wrong or wrongheaded or dangerously deluded - he was a purely execrable lump of venomous filth, a monster of Satanic proportions who whiled away his free time dining on aborted Iraqi fetuses while engaging in gay, married sex with the Saudi royal family, and any who supported him were objectively the enemies of America. Can you possibly allow your opponents to have a voice in the American polity? Gods, no! They must be torn up from the root, thrown bleeding onto the dried and cracked earth, stomped into dusty oblivion before they do the same to you. To do any less would be to desert your country. The complete post is here, along with lots of other cool stuff. OK, I guess I'm a little angry, too.
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| doctors and fingernails |
| 11.01.04 (11:42 am) [edit] |
You know, I go and loose all faith in an entire group of people, an entire profession, and then I meet someone like the doctor I met this morning. Oh, look, there is one who gives a damn. This guy actually read my chart before we talked. He asked careful, detailed questions and took notes on my answers. He answered my questions. Amazing. So, I'm very pleased with this guy, and I now have an appointment for an upper endoscopy (camera thing) on January 3rd.
A couple of weeks ago, I suddenly got very annoyed about the way my fingernails always broke and tore off. They always did this and I always just ignored it because, I figured, that just went with all the stuff I do. But, suddenly, I wanted more, I wanted better. I went to a nail salon and told the woman there that I wanted longer, prettier nails that were-- critical detail-- all the same length. The woman spoke soothingly and glued some nail tips on and then coated the new longer, prettier nail with many layers of stuff that got cured under a blue light. But here's the catch about longer prettier nails: you have to tend to them. Your nails grow-- not break-- and you have to have them 'filled'. Oh, okay. Today I had my nails filled and now I have a new bright shiny french manicure. Ooooh, pretty.
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I'm reading:
Aquamaniacs Picture of the Moment
Betta Links
Betty Splendens
BC Betta
Bettas R Us
Biloxi Bettas
Classic Bettas
Jeff Hiller
Phil Lafferty
Majestic Bettas
Sailor Johnny
Jim Sonnier
Aquarticles
Dr. Tim's Library
Hypertextbook: Mendelian Genetics Chapter Directory
DIY CO2 Systems for Freshwater-Planted Aquaria
Member of
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