By-Tor.com

Soup4Rush wrote:I always called the East Coast Blackshoes the spit and shine Navy. We West Coast Airdales were a bunch of slobs..

ElfDude wrote:http://www.boston.com/news/local/articl ... lbs_break/

Compact fluorescent blubs contain mercury. So if you break one, clear the room of kids and pets, call a haz-mat team, and "consider cutting out the piece of carpet" where it smashed. All this for the global warming hoax.

awip2062 wrote:We still have two mercury thermometers.

Am I a bad mom?

Well, these were made to be used either way.

awip2062 wrote:They DO get cleaned with alcohol after every use, and, besides, the kids are too big to get in the end now.

So when we were last discussing this, I was just about to enter the door of Mr. Buckley's maisonette at 73rd and Park. I entered what I thought was a shrine. To my left was a harpsichord. He played the harpsichord. He wasn't playing it at this point of time, but he played it. He was playing it when I walked in some time later as his guest on Firing Line, taped in his living room, which is where I was escorted when I arrived. Folks, I can't describe how nervous I was while at the same time trying not to be and just relax and be myself. I was escorted in. The room was full. I was one of the last to arrive because I'd driven around the block four times, trying to get the courage up to go in. He was the first to stand up and greet me, that charismatic, just love-of-life smile, welcomed me into that room as though I belonged there as much as any other guest did. He asked me what I wanted to drink. I said, "I'd like a Diet Coke," and sat down. I remember Linda Bridges, who announced his death today, was seated to my left.

Look, folks, these people are all the smartest people in the world to me. These are the people that put out National Review! These are the people that helped Bill Buckley in his quest, which was memorable. We owe Bill Buckley every bit the debt. We conservatives owe Bill Buckley every bit the debt that we owe Ronald Reagan. The two occurred simultaneously. And Reagan was also inspired and educated quite a bit by Buckley. They were very, very close friends. We owe Buckley the same kind of gratitude. I was a little mad when I looked at the wire stories today describing Bill Buckley, and when I saw some of the people that AP had gone to talk to. We're dealing here with the death of one of the greatest Americans in our lifetimes, in three or four generations. In my mind, I rank Bill Buckley as a Founding Father. His passing, I hope, in the coming days will be given the attention and respect that it is due. He was much more than a conservative author and TV host, as has been reported earlier today.

Anyway, Mr. Buckley prepared my Diet Coke, and I sat down, and the conversation at the time I entered they were talking about whether or not James Joyce could publish Ulysses if he tried to at that point today, meaning it was so risqu?, could anybody publish it; and they were having a discussion about that and literature in general. You know, I'm sitting there swimming. And this Diet Coke doesn't taste like Diet Coke. What is this? It tasted like mineral oil that had cola coloring in it. It wasn't long before Mrs. Buckley -- Pat -- made her grand entrance into the room after everybody else had arrived, coming down the sweeping staircase into that room. Everybody in that room shot up like jacks-in-the-box. She came over to me first off, welcomed me to their home, thanked me so much for what I had been saying about her husband and her son and the magazine and so forth. My "Diet Coke" was about half empty. She said, "Would you like a refill? What's that?" I said, "It's Diet Coke." So she took it, took it over to Bill, and said, "Fix Mr. Limbaugh another one."

She watched him fix it, I guess, because I'm in the middle of talking to somebody, and I hear her shout, "Bill, what are you doing! I said Diet Coke." So I was right. It wasn't Diet Coke. I don't know what it was that he served me. Don't read anything into this. It's just one of these things that I remember.