Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Churchill the moron

Got your attention, didn't I? No, that that Churchill. The chucklehead in Colorado so wonderfully skewered by Mark Goldblatt on NRO
In a more rational world, Churchill would be an amateur conspiracy theorist with a chip on his shoulder, the type who spends an hour on hold with CSPAN to spew 15 seconds of venom before Brian Lamb cuts him off.
and here by David Horowitz
The remedy for the Churchill problem is first of all to embrace the idea of intellectual diversity as a primary university value. This will insulate the university from attempts by legislators to remedy the situation themselves. The American public will accept the presence of an extremist like Churchill on a university faculty if they are convinced that the university is a true marketplace of ideas and that Churchill's perverse views will be answered by his peers.

If I drank beer

I'd buy a Bud. Check out this Anheuser-Busch superbowl ad. (But don't really buy a beer.)

James Taranto writes about this happening in real life. One of his readers reports
Last Thursday I was on a flight from Dallas-Fort Worth to Portland, Ore. There were four servicemen returning home for a two-week leave from Iraq. As the plane arrived at the gate in Portland, the pilot mentioned and thanked the servicemen for their service and asked that they be allowed to disembark first. As each of them walked toward the front of the plane, the rest of the passengers erupted in spontaneous applause. It's tough to do a standing ovation in an MD-80, but that's exactly what they got.

The Tolerant Left

I heard Michelle Malkin say on the radio this morning that she's considering writing a book about the sheer hypocrisy of Lefties claiming the moral high ground. The impetus is this blog entry with some fine examples of civilized discourse. Caution: Language.

Yma Sumac

Apparently that incredible voice I recall from Voice of Xtabay has an official website.
As the incredible notes fell upon their ears, reaching from a depth as rich and throaty as a French Horn to notes so pure and high that a flute would have fallen silent at its failure to compete, the madness in the Indians grew to an obsession.
And who could blame them, really?