Haifa Wehbe Watch
Ever since my original post about Lebanese singer Haifa Wehbe
(or Wahbi), this blog has been receiving sporadic hits from the Middle East: Israel, Syria, Egypt, Dubai . . .
Apparently she and some of her peers have really undermined traditional Arab ideas of beauty.
But I say this to her fans:
"Some would say an army of cavalry, others of infantry, others of ships, is the fairest thing on the dark earth, but I say it's whatever you're in love with."
Those lines are from the ancient Greek poet Sappho. Read Sappho, and understand.
Where the weekend went
To the detriment of my students, I spent most of the past weekend editing the first issue of the "new" Pomegranate: The Journal of Pagan Studies. To help the process go faster, I asked the aid of my old friend Michael McNierney, who not only teaches but has written for The Pom in the past, as well as possessing strong editorial skills. Peer-reviewers of academic journals are normally paid in the coin of glory, but I was happy to share food, drink, and some of the old .45 ACP ammunition that I inherited from my late father.
Bang bang, you're legal, Part 2
Certificate from my mostly redundant pistol-handling class of 10 January in hand, I drove on Monday up to the county seat to apply for my concealed-carry permit, which is issued by your friendly local county sheriff.
Entering the sheriff's office, I immediately saw a notice posted by the receptionist/dispatcher's counter: Concealed-weapon permit applications will be accepted only between 8 a.m. and 2 p.m., Monday-Friday. Obviously I am about the last person in the county to get his!
Paperwork. Fingerprints. Oh gods, I've been fingerprinted. Having lived a blameless [unapprehended] life until this point, I have never been fingerprinted. But now I have, "nail bed to nail bed." (Note to self: stock all vehicles with latex gloves.) I did not mention my marriage to M___ C____, notorious deep ecologist, advocate of jury nullification, and all-around subversive. Stay cool, act normal. All I have to swear is that I'm not a felon, alcoholic, wife-beater, habitual drug user, illegal alien, or close personal friend of Osama Bin Ladin.
And I paid some more: a fee to the Colorado Bureau of Investigation so that I might have the privilege of being investigated, plus a fee to the sheriff's office.
Afterwards, Michael and I drove to the shooting range and burned up some of the aforementioned .45 ACP ammo, plus others.
Am I gaining an additional layer of legal protection, or putting myself into a bureaucratic noose? M.C. would say the latter, of course.
(or Wahbi), this blog has been receiving sporadic hits from the Middle East: Israel, Syria, Egypt, Dubai . . .
Apparently she and some of her peers have really undermined traditional Arab ideas of beauty.
But I say this to her fans:
"Some would say an army of cavalry, others of infantry, others of ships, is the fairest thing on the dark earth, but I say it's whatever you're in love with."
Those lines are from the ancient Greek poet Sappho. Read Sappho, and understand.
Where the weekend went
To the detriment of my students, I spent most of the past weekend editing the first issue of the "new" Pomegranate: The Journal of Pagan Studies. To help the process go faster, I asked the aid of my old friend Michael McNierney, who not only teaches but has written for The Pom in the past, as well as possessing strong editorial skills. Peer-reviewers of academic journals are normally paid in the coin of glory, but I was happy to share food, drink, and some of the old .45 ACP ammunition that I inherited from my late father.
Bang bang, you're legal, Part 2
Certificate from my mostly redundant pistol-handling class of 10 January in hand, I drove on Monday up to the county seat to apply for my concealed-carry permit, which is issued by your friendly local county sheriff.
Entering the sheriff's office, I immediately saw a notice posted by the receptionist/dispatcher's counter: Concealed-weapon permit applications will be accepted only between 8 a.m. and 2 p.m., Monday-Friday. Obviously I am about the last person in the county to get his!
Paperwork. Fingerprints. Oh gods, I've been fingerprinted. Having lived a blameless [unapprehended] life until this point, I have never been fingerprinted. But now I have, "nail bed to nail bed." (Note to self: stock all vehicles with latex gloves.) I did not mention my marriage to M___ C____, notorious deep ecologist, advocate of jury nullification, and all-around subversive. Stay cool, act normal. All I have to swear is that I'm not a felon, alcoholic, wife-beater, habitual drug user, illegal alien, or close personal friend of Osama Bin Ladin.
And I paid some more: a fee to the Colorado Bureau of Investigation so that I might have the privilege of being investigated, plus a fee to the sheriff's office.
Afterwards, Michael and I drove to the shooting range and burned up some of the aforementioned .45 ACP ammo, plus others.
Am I gaining an additional layer of legal protection, or putting myself into a bureaucratic noose? M.C. would say the latter, of course.
Labels: Aphrodite
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