The Early History of Tattooing

As I’ve perhaps (!) mentioned before, Rachael is an art major and budding tattoo artist in Austin. The pic below links to a YouTube vid of her most recent Art History multi-media project. IMHO, it rather nicely integrates the two interests that I’ve just mentiond.

The video is perhaps not entirely work-safe, depending on what your workplace is like.

Uh, oops…. Come to think of it, the pic below might not be entirely work-safe, either…



Works of Fiction


Daniel Abraham pointed out this article from the Associated Press. The bipartisan Iraq Study Group strongly reccomend changing the way the intelligence community reports violence in Iraq. Like, perhaps, actually reporting all of it.

The panel pointed to one day last July when U.S. officials reported 93 attacks or significant acts of violence. “Yet a careful review of the reports for that single day brought to light 1,100 acts of violence,” it said.

“The standard for recording attacks acts as a filter to keep events out of reports and databases.” It said, for example, that a murder of an Iraqi is not necessarily counted as an attack, and a roadside bomb or a rocket or mortar attack that doesn’t hurt U.S. personnel doesn’t count, either. Also, if the source of a sectarian attack is not determined, that assault is not added to the database of violence incidents.

“Good policy is difficult to make when information is systematically collected in a way that minimizes its discrepancy with policy goals,” the report said.

You think? Link.

Not unlike this.

Sitting Under the Bodhi Tree on December 7th

Great Buddha

I bought a copy of an English-language Japanese newspaper, THE DAILY YOMIURI, to read while eating breakfast this morning. And as I sat down in a comfy chair in the Keio Plaza Hotel’s breakfast room and took my first sip of coffee, I looked at the date on the front page and was startled. How had I not realized that Barb and I would be in Tokyo today?

After all: Exactly sixty-five years ago, December 7th marked the beginning of an extremely bad period in Japanese-American relations. It was also the day that my great-uncle Harold had to swim for his life through burning water. He had joined the Navy, seen the world, and had his ship blown out from under him at Pearl Harbor.

I looked up from the newspaper at all the Japanese faces in the breakfast room. They smiled at me, and I smiled at them. They seemed glad that I was there, and I felt the same way. It’s 2006, not 1941. Things are different now.

Well, mostly.

Continue reading