The Spider And The Fly

I was happy to see Biden announce rural broadband funding in Pennsylvania.

It is inexcusable that some in this country do not have access to the great equalizer of high speed internet, if for no other reasons than all should be able to read the garbage put out by media who sell connections to their journalists for $25,000 to $250,000. Access to tainted journalism for all I say.

I don’t care about WAPO generally, but it’s disappointing nonetheless, and this certainly isn’t going to help WAPO’s dwindling credibility ratings. More disheartening is the fact that a lobbyist was the first to wonder publicly at the ethics of it all. I know media shapes the news. I also also know the best in class do it by omission, not commission.

So, is someone going to tell me who among the mass of congress people, and who at the executive palace, if anyone, and my fingers are crossed here, agreed to be part of this?

I guess the question, one that has been asked before, and will forever be asked, being such an insidious old root in our history, is what did they know (who), and when did they know it.

Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly,
‘Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I’ve a many curious things to shew when you are there.”
Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”

Excerpt from The Spider and The Fly by Mary Howiit


Waiting For A Rainbow

It rained heavily earlier this evening. The Sun’s brilliance, relentless during the ten minute deluge, would have prompted a search for my level 5 sunglasses had they been in my bag. Rushing home from a myriad of tasks I scanned the sky only briefly for the anticipated rainbow. Of the variety of things humankind


Another Saturday Night

I’m participating, in a non participatory fashion, in Infinite Summer. I started yesterday. My housemate, who often scrolls my sites online, much like my old college roommates used to scroll blogs for me, is blogless and lives vicariously through me, provoked me to do it. It’s not like work, school, no real vacation, at least


Old School Friday, Michael Jackson

It’s old school friday and by default, and death, Michael Jackson is the theme. Though boggled by the scramble the media does to cover the deaths of celebrities, and my goodness last night they certainly were scrambling to get on this bandwagon, to the relief of the governor of South Carolina and the dismay of