I'm finding it hard to have nothing to say.
If you are a fan of online music at all, you should be checking out the new Grooveshark. The site has gotten a new redesign, which has gone a long way toward exposing their features in a much more user-friendly manner.
You can search Grooveshark for songs or albums or artists, you can upload music to their servers, and you can click the “Radio” button to get a Pandora-like automatic playlist.
Check out Grooveshark today!
To the Secretary of the
Treasury Washington D.C.
While in the army in 1863 at one time when there was bread being distributed I managed to get two loaves when I suppose it was intended for each person to only have one, therefore in order to satisfy a reproving concience I remit one dollar which I suppose will cover the amt, with compound int, which please drop in the treasury.
$1 deposited
Conscience
March of 99
More finds like this could really get me to love Google Books.
A small turtle sits in a plastic basket along with others while being released into the water at the natural reserve “La Flor” in San Juan, 150 km (93 miles) south of Managua, Nicaragua on October 14, 2009. (REUTERS/Stringer)
I have some (pretty lame) pictures that I promise I’ll get up soon. Pinky swear.
Still, congrats!
Only through the brilliantly disconnected web of Wikipedia could I discover one of the most fascinating articles I’ve ever read.
The article, titled The Process Church of The Final Judgment, is about a splinter client cult group that broke from Scientology in 1965. The Process Church (as it was called) came to be identified as a Satanic cult, for their worship of three Gods: Jehovah, Lucifer, and Satan. They were also (more recently) linked to David Berkowitz, the Son of Sam serial killer.
The part that fascinates me about this article comes in way of explaining how the group changed throughout the years, eventually resulting in the removal of its founder. It seems that their focus has strayed quite a bit.
To wit:
Further changes in both name and focus followed, and the organization eventually became the Best Friends Animal Society, which is now one of America’s best known animal welfare rescue groups.
That’s right. From Satanic cult to animal welfare rescue group in just over 20 years.
I’ve gotta find a way to automate this, but here are another major round of birthdays that I’d missed completely.
Uncle Bill. Being the Godson to a genius is a tall order. And I’m short. (Self-deprecating metaphor pun.) Happy Birthday!
Cousin Aaron. Happy Birthday. I haven’t talked to you in ages, and I doubt you’ll see this. But, if you do see this, kudos for me.
Cousin Molly Brass. Happy Birthday! I hope you find time between Da Vinci codes to see this and know that I thought of you well after you actual birth day.
Cousin Teresa Rausch! Happy Birthday! Now that we’re connected on Facebook, I missed my first opportunity to wish you a “Happy Birthday” in a direct manner. First impressions matter!
Aunt Sue! Happy Birthday! I still think about how you stumped me when you asked why I thought you should get Snow Leopard. I’m still thinking.
Ex-Roommate Jeff! When he’s not Flogging his Molly, then he’s Tumbling his ‘Log. In any case, it was nice to see you at the wedding, short as it was. Hopefully you can stop by Sioux Falls sometime soon and see our house.
Mother-in-Law Carol! I’m sure Holli wished you a “Happy Birthday” from both of us. She did, didn’t she? I’m sure she did. Anyway, Happy Birthday!
Mr. Britain! Since it was your birthday, I’ll share a little confession with everyone. Tony did not write “Circus Time!”. It was me. I hacked his site, after he dared me that I wouldn’t, I posted it, written expertly in his hand. That, my friend, is my gift to you: full disclosure.
Oku on odosketch.
This goes to show just how obvious it is that I’m not the illustrator behind The Suckered.
This week is a big one for birthdays: Cari Gregg, Aunt Kelly, Lindsey, and Holly Davidson. If I weren’t exhausted, I’d write something specific to each of them. Something like, I’m sure Bryce’s birthday present to Lindsey was a murdered hobo. I’d also imply, without stating outright, that my Aunt Kelly is fifty years old. Then I’d spend the rest of the time trying to come up with clever things to say for the other two, and they probably wouldn’t be as good.
That said, I’d do all that if I weren’t exhausted right now. As it is, I’ll just say, “Happy Birthday,” and go on my way.