Ace wins Blogger of the Year at CPAC.

Wow.

I seriously considered going to CPAC, but decided what I really wanted was a few days of wandering D.C. at my own pace, looking at stuff both in and out of museums, rather than listening to political speeches. But if I’d known Ace would speak … I’d have been right there.

Congratulations, Ace!

I love to read Anne’s LifePundit blog, so I hope she won’t be upset that I’m picking on her a bit here. As Calvin and Hobbes once ruminated, “Verbing weirds language.” And although verbing words may be a clever shorthand and perfectly understandable, like many things that are at first new and cool, after a while it can seem affected and pretentious. Anne’s use is one of the oldest forms of verbing I’ve observed in my lifetime and has definitely passed over into the “pretentious” stage:

To stay on track, I will journal every day.

To stay on track, perhaps she should write in a journal every day or even keep a daily journal, but to journal every day sounds both mysterious and banal* at the same time, like it’s the current hot fad that she will do because everybody says it will be good for her (and, in fact, a hot trend in all the various levels of schooling plus psychological journeying was indeed, as far as I know, the origin of the verbing of the noun “journal,” at least in its current incarnation). Now Anne’s a writer and she’s not keeping a journal because it’s a fad, but because she understands that this is something that works for her personally, I suspect. So remove the trendy jargon usage from the word and it goes back to being more a serious, thoughtful act of reflection than something she’s doing because she read it in the Oprah magazine. (Yes, if you’re wondering, I crack myself up, even if nobody else laughs.)

There’s the $.02 Anwyn’s Note on verbing. Don’t do it, especially when it’s popular.

Maybe for Lent, I should give up pointing out people’s bad grammar habits.

*I frequently look up words I already understand just to double-check that I’m using them correctly before I throw them up here. I’m going to link definitions when I do that, in case you also want to make sure you know the word or just want to see what kinds of things I find myself having to look up. Fun, no?

…to Slublog, for altering one of the existing FredHeads for Mitt buttons into a size and look that I wanted for my sidebar. I’m fairly clueless at Photoshop, so he helped me out. If you want to put it on your blog, go for it.

I typically would avoid labels like “FredHead.” (See also: Browncoat.) But I think it makes sense, since I had a first choice who I felt was the best choice, to continue to make that known.

Thanks, Slu!

Somebody came to this blog by googling the phrase “how healthy is it to live in oregon.”

Well, it depends. What political persuasion are you, and how high do you like your blood pressure?

I do love to read people who know how to use language with precision, unlike the yammering nannies at modern-day Sesame Street. I give you Fug Girl Jessica (don’t worry about deciphering the Mischa Barton photos, we’re here for the article):

As a huge fan of the seminal tune “I Love Trash,” — truly, it’s neck and neck with “Rubber Ducky” as the best Sesame Street song ever, in my opinion, with honorable mention going to “C Is For Cookie,” which I hear has been replaced by “Cookies Are A Sometimes Food,” which, I sorry, is bullshit, because cookies are an ALWAYS food, they’re just not a MASS QUANTITIES food. Why you gotta play me like this, Sesame Street?

That was only about strike 17 or 18 for Sesame Street, which I’m thankful The Bean never really got into. He watched Elmo’s World mostly for my sake, because I thought it was something babies his age did, and after a while began protesting loudly. I quit turning the show on at all the day it began promoting stealing as a legitimate way of getting people to give you things.

My niece, age almost 15 months, watches Elmo but with a certain amount of derision. When she hears his music or sees his image, she looks around for somebody to speak to and prounounces her review: “Monkey.”

I despise splogs, even if they link back to me when they take my posts and put them up on an ad-filled monstrosity in a truncated and ridiculous manner.

That is all.

Up until a few months ago, when I linked back to one of my own posts, WP would automatically put the trackback on the linked post. No more. Anybody have any idea why it would suddenly quit doing that when I haven’t updated or otherwise tinkered with WP and as far as I know haven’t changed any relevant options?

I have a lot of stuff to blog, but I leave tomorrow for the beach–and not one of the cold, rainy, windy ones that Oregon offers, either. I’ve never been to South Carolina before, so I’m really looking forward to it.

…

Well, of course the beach house has wireless. I’ll still blog, just not in the next couple days or so while we’re traveling.

Meanwhile, turns out that while I still don’t enjoy any Hugh Laurie humor I’ve ever seen except House, Sense and Sensibility, and Friends, is there any limit to the man’s talent? Apparently on top of everything else, he can also play the guitar.

We now return this blog to its regularly scheduled TV and whatever-else-I-feel-like-blogging beat. But it sure was fun getting links from Hot Air headlines, Patterico (with the excellent point that if Thompson’s successes aren’t worth reporting because they were fairly typical, why should his failures, also fairly typical, be different?), a grumpy but lovable See-Dubya, Ace’s headlines, and … Fred Thompson’s campaign.

Woo-hoo!

I’m not great with the Days of Sentiment and Memory posts–Memorial Day, Veterans Day, and like that. I don’t like to get too mushy on the blog, lest the lawyers start realizing I’m actually a girl. Guess the picture’s pretty much let that cat out of the bag, but I still am not great with the sentimental posts.

Veterans Day is important to me, but not spent in solemn observance. And Oregon has rather imperceptibly reduced my standards. I was happy enough when at my very PC and peace-oriented Oregon church, the only mention of Veterans Day was when our pastor said he was thankful for veterans’ service and sad that it was necessary–but that it was necessary. I frankly didn’t expect even that much.

My grandfather, now passed away, did a tour in France. My father spent all of my childhood and more flying tankers for the U.S. Air Force and teaching others to do the same. A cousin flew Tomcats for the navy and another cousin is now stationed in Afghanistan, crew chief for the (alas, grounded) F-15s whose absence is being supplemented by … the French. And if you want to talk wayback history, my great-great-grandfather (I think that’s the appropriate number of “greats”) was one of four brothers who joined the Union army–and the only one who returned. I honor their service and am grateful for their safety.

Now go read this at Sippican Cottage. His father was a ball gunner on a B-24 in the Pacific during WWII, that fact alone enough to make me shudder a little. Forty missions in a ball turret! Those were tough guys, and we all owe them a debt of gratitude no less today than sixty years ago–more, because we have a shorter time to show it.

I saw a bumper sticker today (yes, here in Oregon) that said Support Our Troops–Support Victory. Never saw it before. I’m glad I saw it today.

T. Paine, A. Weasel and his wife who is not Mrs. A. Weasel, cardeblu and her husband, and I gathered for a drink or three or five at McMenamins. Memo to anybody wanting to go to Kennedy School in the future: The Honors and Detention Bars are small. They are not classrooms; at most they used to be the nurse’s office. Or maybe a janitor’s closet. We waited till around nine to see if anybody else would join us and then moved over to the patio off the Cypress Room. The outdoor fireplace was lovely.

I can’t tell you how nice it was to sit down in the heart of Portland and have an easygoing, free-flowing conversation about politics that didn’t involve nodding politely while secretly disagreeing with every word spoken or trying to figure out a pleasant way to totally rip somebody’s argument to shreds. The horrors of the public educational system, the laughingstock that is Al Gore, the ins and outs of blog communication and meeting internet acquaintances in person, how to get out of jury duty, Oregon’s rather nutty DUI law–these were among the topics canvassed.

If you missed it, it’s too bad. It was a good time and one that I hope can be repeated. I was the first to leave because I turn into a pumpkin too darn early these days, but it was a pleasure to meet you all.

Updated and bumped for the last time, Thursday 11-1-07.

Update: Okay, folks, it’s time. Let’s gather at McMenamins Kennedy School, Honors Bar, at around 8:00 p.m. Saturday, November 3. Here’s what I look like —————————————>

See you there!

Note: I’ll bump this to the top about once a week until the party.

Let’s all get together. I don’t have a fancy name like Ace-a-Palooza or the Yearly Kops or a fancy location like Karol’s NY blogger parties. What I do have is a decided lack of people I can chat with on even general topics without being afraid they’ll take offense at some opinion of mine. I know there are people all over the blogs that I read who are from Washington or Oregon … so let’s pick a reasonably quiet bar and go hang out.

Upcoming Saturdays are: October 20, October 27, November 3, November 10. Any farther out than that and it won’t be immediate enough to commit to. Possible areas are: Downtown Portland, west-side suburban Portland (Beaverton or Hillsboro), or, if there are more Washingtonians than Oregonians, I’m willing to consider the Vancouver, WA, side of town.

So if this sounds good to you, leave your preferred dates and location ideas in the comments. 1) The more dates you’re open to, the more chance we have of getting the highest number of people; 2) Quiet hangouts preferred! A McMenamin’s in the suburbs is nice and quiet, and yes, I know their service sucks and there’s better beer out there, but quiet enough to talk to each other is my major criteria.

Hope to see you soon!

Update: Probability is running strong for Saturday, November 3, and Portland’s McMenamins Kennedy School, which has the advantage of also being a hotel in case any out-of-towners need to crash instead of driving home. Leave comments about the advisability of the plan. And spread the word!

Update: Saturday, November 3, Kennedy School, 8 p.m. A. Weasel suggests either the Detention bar or the Honors bar. Anybody else got an opinion on that score?

I’m putting my picture up.

Many of my favorite female bloggers have their pictures up, and I like having a face to put with the name. And in fact, if you image-search “Anwyn,” my picture is already available from the good ol’ TORn days. It’s time I put up a picture for search engines to find in which I’m not wearing a flannel hiking shirt fifteen sizes too big. And hey, some of us are getting together to chat; you’re going to need to know how to recognize me.

And then there are others of my favorite female bloggers who have declined to have their picture up because of jerks and morons. And no woman should have to retire their picture in disgust because of the lowest common denominator of degenerate blog cruisers. So let me clarify my picture policy right now–and this is for anybody who’s come here at random, as I know anybody who reads here regularly is far too polite even to think of doing this: Do not take time out of your day, as Rachel puts it, to tell me what’s wrong with my face. You will most likely be ignored, but if I’m feeling cattish you will receive a summary email beating along the lines of my comment on Rachel’s post. If you want to take a moment of your time to tell me I’m smokin’ hot, by all means feel free, but otherwise I simply do not care about your opinion on the subject, so don’t bother either yourself or me providing it. Likewise, do not email me offering hookups, trysts, or any other clandestine affairs.

That said … that’s what I look like. You’re welcome. And no, the wee arm around my neck is not an extra appendage–it is separate from me and attached to my son, who thinks Mom’s neck is his arm’s second home. I’m okay with that.