Harlequin Courier

So: this

and this

and finally this.

While I'm not the first person to make the comparison, I will say I WANT ONE NOW.

Moreover, this is an outstanding device for writers:

We set the clamshell up like a book, use a bluetooth keyboard and mouse and now we are typing on pages that actually look like pages. <>

I suppose, like most good things, I'll have to wait, but it's nice that computer technology is finally catching up to my nerdy childhood dreams.

No Joy in Gainesville

In Alabama, where the rednecks live, the crowds are drinking deep;

The 'Bama fans are sneering, and 'Bama records keep,

Alabama men are inbred, but tonight they all can shout;

For there is no joy in Gainesville— mighty Tebow has struck out.

A Poem

Forgive a bit of digression. This is also not an attempt at conversion. Please do read, however.

I don't know how you are on the belief scale. I follow Jesus.

30 minutes ago, I had the worst dream I had ever had. I dreamed I, and someone else, shot the 1-year old version of my oldest daughter (she is 5) and then had to fling her on a trash heap. I was wracked with weeping. I have never felt such depth of despair and sorrow. When I woke to find her still alive, I still couldn't shake the realness of the dream, so I prayed that I might forget the dream. I was clearly told that I could not forget it, that in fact I might as well be committing those actions because right now, representatives of my country -- who I pay for and educate -- are murdering babies halfway across the world. And I could not forget it because God is angry and God's people need to know that. I then wrote a very short poem. Here it is.

No peace;

No victory

is worth a murdered child.

We've got to stop the war today.

And then I wandered down here and posted this, after forwarding it to a few friends. At 3:42 in the morning.

Peace. We have to make it happen.