July 2003

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I need to clear up some confusion, I think, about the chosen siblings. There are only four of them. They are all people I have shared real, live time with, not people I only know online. And they are all people toward whom I feel a special, unbreakable bond, no matter what transpires.

The first time I used the "chosen" phrase I was writing about the first chosen brother. Actually, the first chosen sibling is a sister. That would be Donna, although she's not referred to as such in that entry.

Not that there aren't other people I care deeply about. Just wanted to make it clear what the phrase meant.

On to other things now. I've spent some time the past couple of days pondering how best to deal with a moral dilemma. Someone I sort of know expressed an opinion I consider extremely bigoted. Until that happened, I've never considered this person to be a bigot. Yes, I did make my displeasure known. My quandry is whether or not to give said person another chance. Right now I'm leaning toward no.

One of the more annoying things that's happened this week has been fireworks of the amateur variety. I'm not surprised; there's always a lot of interest this time of year in making explosions of one sort or another. But the neighborhood people don't have to be so secretive about the damned things this year, since laws around here have eased on fireworks. This means for the past two days I've thought several times that I had accidentally moved into a war zone.

And on a perhaps related note: the most amazing commercial I've heard on television of late was for a gun shop in Fayetteville, North Carolina. The shop says it carries everything you need for homeland security. No, I am not making that up. Gee, it's hard to cringe and type at the same time.

Text © copyright 2000-2003 Becky