Of course you know InstaPundit, king of the bloggers; you may know that the title is parodied at (in?) isntapundit. I’ve long hoped that someone in Byzantium would launch Istanpundit; a watcher of all kinds of opposition could run AntisPundit. As for other anagrams, I see that ShortStrings (now Out Of The Loop) beat me to it.
Wherever the standard of freedom and Independence has been or shall be unfurled, there will [America’s] heart, her benedictions and her prayers be.
But she goes not abroad, in search of monsters to destroy.
She is the well-wisher to the freedom and independence of all.
She is the champion and vindicator only of her own.
She will commend the general cause by the countenance of her voice, and the benignant sympathy of her example.
She well knows that by once enlisting under other banners than her own, were they even the banners of foreign independence, she would involve herself beyond the power of extrication, in all the wars of interest and intrigue, of individual avarice, envy, and ambition, which assume the colors and usurp the standard of freedom.
The fundamental maxims of her policy would insensibly change from liberty to force . . . .
She might become the dictatress of the world. She would be no longer the ruler of her own spirit . . . .
Spent the day with Dad. He said that with my new drug habit I seem not only happier but more decisive; that even Seth remarked on the change. (What d’ya know. Seen from inside it’s not nearly so dramatic.) Dad said I drive my car more decisively — whatever that means; it’s further puzzling because he could not have seen me drive in at least fifteen years.
He bought a stack of books from the Esperanto League for North America, where we had our first-ever extended conversation with Don Harlow after long (if intermittent) impersonal contact. I bought a swell pin that reads Neniu fremdulo en Esperantujo (no-one a foreigner in Esperantia).
After lunch we took a scenic spin up Grizzly Peak Blvd and rode a miniature railroad. Back on flatter ground, I found something Dad wanted. We made rendezvous with Ruth and Seth, and enjoyed a dinner punctuated with drollery.
Anton Gets Wound Up Over An Affront To His Dignity, Chapter CLXIV.
Sunday a policeman pulled me over (for lacking a current tax sticker on my car; it was lost in the mail). I started to stand up, the better to speak face to face (nor do I easily pass up an opportunity to stretch my legs), when a threatening voice said “Stay in the car!” In what I hope was a mild tone, I asked “Why?” The cop replied, as if stating the obvious, “Because I told you to.” Not having an answer ready for that one, I shut up and remained seated.
( . . more . . )