Prayer request.

Judith Leigh Doloughan, the mother of Hilary White, died last evening after a long battle with cancer.

Christopher Hitchens.

The legendary English barrister F.E. Smith (later Lord Birkenhead) was a dear friend of Winston Churchill until Smith's death in 1930. (Smith was also the master of the devastating courtroom put-down, deployed as often against judges as against the opposing party).

Smith clearly saw the oft-scattershot judgment of his impetuous friend, and remarked:

"When Winston is right, he's absolutely right. When he's wrong...well, my God."

I think that judgment applies to Mr. Hitchens as well. Here's one for the "absolutely right" file, as he destroys Chris Hedges in a religious debate. Look for Hedges' no mas moment at the end.

Haloscan is on the fritz.

So if you aren't seeing your comments in the actual comments box, it's not because of moderator activity. They are taking a long time to show up in boxes (though they are appearing fairly quickly at the sidebar).

H/t to Peter Bradley for this find.

A fascinating discussion between Richard Dawkins and Alister McGrath for a British TV special by Dawkins.

I agree with Peter on this one: Given the topic, both men manage to come across well, and I can now understand how Dawkins has friends. He drops the atheist pit-bull shtick for over an hour, and is genial and thoughtful--if baffled by McGrath's position.

Worth your time.

Show of hands: Anyone else up for persecution of metrosexuals?

It's taking everything I have to chain my inner Spicoli to the floor. First it was man-purses. Then it was facials and pedicures.

Now, it's come to this:

Makeup for "men."

If you're caught wearing this stuff without (1) third degree burns or (2) an engraved invitation to a costume party that evening, your testicles should be put on an organ donor list. You obviously aren't using them.

"Where is your god now?"

So said (more likely roared) St. Boniface, shortly after felling the sacred oak of Thor in what would later become Germany. And interfaith dialogue was never quite the same.

I tried to get Jeff Culbreath to name his farm after Boniface, but he went with St. Isidore for some inexplicable reason.

Today is Boniface's feast day--celebrate with a theme! If you can't manage felling pagan oaks, try a surburban equivalent: hedge-trimming, grass-cutting, or more ideally: chainsawing the weeds/branches trespassing on your lot from your neighbor's parcel. Repeat the Saint's taunt while doing it, and enjoy the fun! Oh, and don't forget kicking back with a good German beer to celebrate a job well done.

Historical P.S.: He was born in Crediton, England, and I'm happy to report the area hasn't forgotten its most famous native son.

"The most decisive five minutes in the history of naval warfare."

--John Keegan.

June 4, 1942.

Dauntless dive bombers at Midway, attacking a Japanese cruiser.

At shortly after noon, local time, Lt. Cmdr. C. Wade McClusky's Dauntless dive bomber squadron from the U.S.S. Enterprise began its run at the Japanese armada during the Battle of Midway. In five minutes of combat, three of the four Japanese carriers present would be destroyed, and the fourth would be sunk two days later.

McClusky in January 1942. He would retire from the Navy as a Rear Admiral.

The reason the Japanese were surprised? The suicidal heroism of the American torpedo bomber squadrons, whose unsupported attack runs in obsolete aircraft failed utterly with great loss--and focused the attention of the Japanese fighter squadrons and anti-aircraft batteries down at sea level.

Ensign George Gay (right), on June 4, 1942, just before going into combat. He was the sole survivor of the U.S.S. Hornet's torpedo squadron, and won the Navy Cross for heroism that day. He was picked up by an American submarine afte his plane was shot down.

By the time the IJN looked up from the torpedo attacks, the Dauntless squadrons had started their attack runs. They would not miss.

Good weekend.

Except for the humidity and condensed humidity.

We went out to a Mongolian BBQ with the Siekierskis on Saturday, and raided the Borders afterward. The gift card was rapidly extinguished. I got this and an encyclopedia on Fighters and Bombers for both myself and The Boy (because, you know, I'm confused about nationalism and whatnot and want to pass the confusion on). Dale thinks it's "cool," even though they're not tanks.

Madeleine has a new book to push her reading level (from the Frog and Toad series, not sure which one). Rachel received The Cat In The Hat Comes Back, which has been read three times since its purchase.

All in all, a restful and relaxing weekend. Which is good.

Excitement I don't need, thanks.

Good answers.

"I'd guess 32. 38? Wow, you don't look it."

"Me neither."

Since neither one of them either owed me money or was soliciting it from me, I'll take them at their word.

Like all good and loyal readers, you're always asking yourselves: "What can I do for Dale?"

Especially with my birthday looming and all.

This would be fine. But consult amongst yourselves first--multiple copies would be wasteful.

The rest can manage some other appropriate tribute.

That is all.

About the flying TB patient.

I'm beginning to feel sorry for Andrew Speaker. In the immortal words of Ricky Riccardo, the CDC has some 'splainin' to do:

"I don't expect for people to ever forgive me. I just hope that they understand that I truly never meant to put them in harm," he said, his voice cracking.

Speaker, 31, said he, his doctors and the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention all knew he had TB before he flew to Europe for his wedding and honeymoon last month. But he said he was advised that he wasn't contagious or a danger to anyone. Officials said they would rather he didn't fly but no one ordered him not to, he said.

He said his father, also a lawyer, taped that meeting.

"My father said, 'OK, now are you saying, prefer not to go on the trip because he's a risk to anybody, or are you simply saying that to cover yourself?' And they said, we have to tell you that to cover ourself, but he's not a risk."

BTW, you can thank the screwed-up use of antibiotics in prisons for the development of the strain in Russia. Basically, the prison authorities gave enough doses to TB patients to feel better, then stopped.

The Russian approach to problem-solving can be summarized like this:

Keep hitting the problem until it breaks. If it doesn't break, keep hitting. Use someone else's head where necessary.

The thing is, it works more often than not. But nobody uses the words "Russian style," and the collateral damage is usually gothic.