Archive for February, 2009
A while ago, I looked at the renewed proposals to expand gambling in Minnesota and concluded that it didn’t make sense, in a time of declines in the national gaming industry, to spend money on new gambling infrastructure in the hopes that it would start generating revenue soon enough to be of help. At the time, I noted that state lottery revenue was up in a bare majority of states, but numbers for Minnesota weren’t available. They are now.
People in favor of nationalizing U.S. banks, the credit crisis visualized, Al-Qaeda against bin Laden, one city looks at how the state budget deficit affects it, Eagle Cam, GMO contamination
I highly recommend dinner with Lizzie. But since most of you can’t have that, I recommend that you try Midori’s Floating World Cafe in South Minneapolis with someone who makes you smile.
Analiese Miller is, among many other things, an anthropologist and a news junkie. When those combine, she produces links, which we are happy to share with you.
On Tangled Up in Blue Guy, I often post a “Friday 419” piece. Today I will talk about a different kind of scam. Magazines and newspapers are selling you copies of their publications with the shocking revelation that Darwin’s work was not completely accurate, based on new knowledge gained since his time.
I’ve had a number of people ask what we’re looking for at Quiche Moraine from our guest writers. Since I’m fundamentally lazy (lazy + ambitious = efficient, or so I keep telling myself), I thought I’d post the answers I’ve been giving here.
We’re looking for stories and arguments, really, points of view. We want to know what only you can or will tell us.
After all, there was the same old perkiness in his step this morning, the same tugging-on-the-leash excitement he always had at going on a road trip, the same unquestioning loyalty and snuggliness, and even though he could no longer get into the car himself like he could just the year before, he gave every appearance of having a great ol’ time. Every bit of him this morning belied what I knew to be true, that the seizures were coming more and more often, that they twisted his little body into impossible contortions that would have done Linda Blair proud, and that each time wrenched a howl from him that broke my heart when I heard it, even jarring me from a sound sleep with only the memory of it in my ears and the dread knowledge of what it had meant.
I never knew her name, but I knew she worked in the cafeteria. We talked about a wide range of topics, including (and possibly mainly) the weather. A week or so earlier, we had an especially interesting conversation.
“He’s my nephew, you know.”
“That Bennett boy. We live on the same street. We’re blood, and I know him as well as I know anybody, and I can tell you he didn’t do it.”
I had hoped for something a little less expensive myself, and nearly decided to skip the meal to head home. But I have a fault. I don’t like to leave the party if I don’t have anything pressing, and I consider being with fellow atheists to be a “party.” Atheist gatherings are an opportunity to speak freely, and for me, generally an opportunity to listen freely as I am not a talkative person. The subjects that atheists talk about are wide in scope and conversation usually flows through many subjects.
It turns out that Greek restaurants in Minneapolis are to the citizens of this area what operating systems and political candidates are to computer users and activists. You’ve got one you love, and the rest suck.
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