Everybody loves price gouging, especially when it’s academically sponsored!

Where’s the government inquiry on that one?

I feel I owe some explanation for my spat with newspaper reporting. In their insistence to always cover the alternative Palestinian view, to print quotes from the mother of Ifram Quaran who was convicted of murdering Israel’s minister of tourism, to continue to talk as though Israel committed a huge massacre in Jenin and managed to leave behind no evidence…

At their worst, newspapers speak against the constructs of reality to present the ‘other side,’ but as they spit and caw they do so in unison. They are no longer the antithesis, because the thesis has been quieted and forced into the blogosphere. The news is supposed to accurately reflect the reality of events, but increasingly I get the feeling they’re reporting on what should have happened, what should be correct, rather than what is. If you want to fabricate your own reality, fine. I don’t care. Just please don’t tell me you’re in the business of truth-seeking, and don’t call it news.

And don’t write crap send-offs like this:

Ziad Mousa, a lecturer in linguistics at Bir Zeit University in Ramallah, brought his two granddaughters by the same barricade. Mousa, who splits his time between Ramallah and Irving, Texas, said his younger grandaughter Zania, 2, knew only two words: “Jews” and “Sharon.”

“She is afraid of them,” he said. He was not opimistic that Israel was prepared to talk peace.

“They are afraid of peace, and they are afraid of war,” he said. “They like a state of no war, and no peace. This is the climate where they can survive.”

Because a climate where 28 Israelis are shredded to bits during Passover is obviously a climate where Israelis can survive.

Let’s switch gears.

The hubble telescope has beamed back some awesome pictures with its new digs. It’s just a low-res Yahoo site, as the official Hubble site has been been overrun with everyone lookin’ at these pretty pics.

It’s a happy, happy, happy Universe!

Well, I’ve wanted to get my feet wet in the foul pools of punditry for quite some time, and the New York Times has managed to make it quite easy, today. What will follow is a stupid college student’s analysis of a situation that is likely so far beyond his comprehension that he would be better off joining Students Against War and yelling Ji’had! Ji’had! Ji’had! on the steps of the Capitol.

He really should run spellcheck, too.

Israel lifts seige as Arafat yields six men

Palestinians trapped for a month in Yasir Arafat’s humbled compound here erupted in celebration early this morning after Israeli forces withdrew in an American-brokered compromise.

Humbled, eh? As though the compound was once a proud and shining beacon for peace that has since been laid to waste by the vicious Israeli military.

But almost at the same time, a gunfight broke out at the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, setting off fires in the church compound where Palestinian gunmen and noncombatants have been under Israeli siege since early April.

This gives me the idea for a cool Western. Gunfight at the Bethlehem Corral. And another thing: How the hell do guns start fires without Gene Wilder? Flaming bullets? I think we’re missing something, here.

Before he knew that the gunfight had subsided relatively quickly and the church compound had only briefly been aflame, Mr. Arafat exploded in rage at the news from Bethlehem, shouting: “This is a crime! This is a crime!” and calling those who committed it “terrorists, Nazis and racists.”

Yep. Just like the Nazis. Oh, the wonderful irony of Nazi Jews, gassing millions of Arabs in their refugee death camps. Terrorists? Sorry Mr. Arafat, all the terrorists you need are on your side. No sense trying to recuit troops from the Israeli seige engine.

Through a chilling mist in Ramallah, Israeli soldiers grinned and flashed victory signs as they rode out tonight atop the armored vehicles and tanks that have occupied most of Mr. Arafat’s compound since the army invaded after a suicide bomber killed 28 Israelis in an attack at a hotel banquet hall during Passover.

Now this is interesting. I believe that in Arab culture it is called the victory sign. In Western culture it is the peace sign. I wonder which one the Israeli soldiers really intended.

Hey kids, why write for the Statesman when you are obviously qualified to work at the NYTimes? Give James Bennet a call and tell him you want his job.

Newspapers suck.

Finally. Sunk back into the shadows. Cromlech only drew 50 views yesterday. Statistics nevertheless, cuz I know you love ’em and I love writin’ em:

4 – hours spent compressing video

9,786 – number of pages in a 95MB text document

CRASH – time it takes computer to load said document

3 – number of commands I know for navigating Unix

5 – how excited I am for tomorrow’s Judge Parker

2 – hours spent writing on Cromlech, today

58 – what day I think it is today

59 – how consistently funny McSweeney’s.com is

12 – An important number left over from the days of working at the Data Recognition Corporation

#CCCC99 – the number for this background color

5 – number of body sections the larva in Bunny’s ears have

7 – I really like the number seven

18 – how much thought and care I’m taking in this post

19 – how much thought and care I take in most posts

97 – how bogus I really think that last statement is

13 – number of minutes spent so far on this post

2328 – this column height

99 – number of keys left on my 101 character keyboard

Is it snow? It could be ashes from a nuclear attack on Superior. It could be the finely shredded results of an angel’s collision with a jetliner. It falls like rain, pings like BB’s and collects like lust in the shallows of the ocean.

I wrote the following note to myself on my desk:

FADE FROM CROW TO TITS… longer?

Ten points to whoever can tell me what it’s from.

Today at noon Sunny Wicked will be playing Seraph in recital hour, my philosophy video running on a 10 foot screen behind. I’m very excited.

I’ve been listening to the Presidents of the United States of America this morning and it’s resonating something fierce within. I feel fourteen years old again. Chillin’ in Washington DC, touring the Smithsonian, transcribing lyrics on the plane, buying peach penguins and jellybeans at the mall. I still have a small Pier 1 flask of those jellies at home.

I’ve been elected to orbit the planet in a rocket…

I’m goin’ to Mars, I’ve got a message for the poodle in your pocket…

Well Mission Control, call a supernova

The hotlines rockin’ and you can come on over

And let us be who we am…

And let us kick out the jaaaaaaaaaaam yeah!!!

Kick out the jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam!!!

WE DONE KICKED ‘EM OUT!

Playful. Doldrums? Pah. No such thing.

Hmm. Well whoever was maliciously loading and reloading my page was busy yesterday, too:

1147 requests for ~pete1931

71,674,546 total bytes sent

Statistics from one week ago:

28 requests for ~pete1931

2,016,465 total bytes sent

Today’s date, one year ago:

4 requests for ~pete1931

251,595 total bytes sent

Someone is playing a silly joke, and I insist it is silly! Oh you crazy folks down at ITSS, tooling my statistics to feed my ego so I stay up late writing instead of doing homework, sleeping in peaches and buying toasters!

As Bokonon would say, “Busy, busy, busy.”

Speaking of Bokonon, I will now recount for you a delightful passage from Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle. In the absence of my own material, I will steal from others:

There were two beverages offered, both un-iced: Pepsi-Cola and native rum. The Pepsi-Cola was served in plastic Pilseners. The rum was served in coconut shells. I was unable to identify the sweet bouquet of the rum, though it somehow reminded me of early adolescence.

Frank was able to name the bouquet for me. “Acetone.”

“Acetone?”

“Used in model-airplane cement.”

I did not drink the rum.