Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)
Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.
This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.
Friday, January 14, 2005
I hate doing this, because I have absolutely no room to talk. Further, I feel like I'm stealing James Kilpatrick's schtick. But, still, the first sentence in this article just made me wince.
"MONTGOMERY - With Vivaldi on the violins, the smell of roast beef whiffing through the room and [...]"
You might catch a whiff of the odor wafting your way, in which case you would be whiffing, but the roast beef itself isn't doing any whiffing of its own.
All further wincing is reserved for wondering why the swearing in of state school board members is written about with a snooty pretentiousness, as if it's some sort of royal investiture.
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