Sometimes the planets just line up and things happen serendipitously (wow...I didn't think I could spell a word that long this early in the morning).
Yesterday I wrote about writing, as in cursive handwriting, and its decline. I got lots of comments from my online family, most of them variations on the theme of Boy Is My Handwriting Yucky. This morning, my Joke of the Day e-mail contained this piece:
When you write copy, you have the right to copyright the copy you write, if the copy is right. If, however, your copy falls over, you must right your copy. If you write religious services, you write rites and have the right to copyright the rites you write. Conservative people write right copy and have the right to copyright the right copy they write. A right wing cleric would write right rites and has the right to copyright the right rites he has the right to write. His editor has the job of making the right rite copy right before the copyright can be right. Should Thomas Wright decide to write a right rite, then Wright would write a right rite, which Wright has the right to copyright. Duplicating that rite would copy Wright's right rite and violate copyright, which Wright would have the right to right. Is that about right?
Didja get that? I hope so, because I'm not even going to try to repeat it.
I've become a big fan of the wonderfully weird TV show Lost...I'm working my way through the first four seasons on DVDs, and am just as confused as everyone else who's ever tried to figure out what's going on with the hatches, polar bears, smoke monsters, ghosts, "Others," and other things. But it has occurred to me that I'm living in my own version of Lost, because I work in the Pentagon. Those of you who have been stationed there (yes, Katherine, I'm talking to you) will understand. The rest of you, take a few minutes and read this article from yesterday's Washington Post: The Building That Runs Rings Around the Wiliest Generals. I feel like Indiana Jones trying to find his way into some vine-festooned old ruin...except that in Washington, the vine-festooned old ruins are all serving in Congress.
That's all for now. I have to find something to pack for lunch, then head off to once again try to find my office in the Five-Sided Squirrel Cage on the Potomac. It's not as easy as you think.
Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.