Scientists have pinpointed genetic variations that make people more likely to get hooked on cigarettes and more prone to develop lung cancer â€” a finding that could someday lead to screening tests and customized treatments for smokers trying to kick the habit.
The discovery by three separate teams of scientists makes the strongest case so far for the biological underpinnings of nicotine addiction and sheds more light on how genetics and lifestyle habits join forces to cause cancer.
Excellent. I get to blame these stinky Marlboros, juicy Copenhagen, and delicious 888 Churchills on my parents, too. See, it ain’t just me being a weak-willed pansy with a drinking lifestyle problem, I tells ya!
Yeah, I got all three in reach. Stupid Sir Walter Raleigh. Blessed St. Walter.
Google users in the United States will notice today that we “turned the lights out” on the Google.com homepage as a gesture to raise awareness of a worldwide energy conservation effort called Earth Hour.
I’m proud to say that I was bombing south on US 281 at 85mph between the hours of 8 & 9, except where I had to slow down for the towns, none of whom seemed to be observing Earth Hour, but then, we’re Texans and we love-a the oil-a. I even threw out a couple of beer cans on the side of the road, in the manner of Edward Abbey. Those community service clowns need something to pick up on the side of the road besides bottles of pee from the long-haul truckers. If I had been home, I would have turned on every stinking light that I own, too, and run the oven and the dishwasher and the dryer all at the same time, as a statement of the futility of such idiotic gestures as Earth Hour.
Here’s an idea…let’s just shut off the damn internet. Think how much money & energy that would save. Not to mention time. Frickiin’ hippies. Go knit a dreamcatcher by the starlight, and leave us capitalists alone.
Speaking of bombing south, this almost made me take a left to Waco when I heard it on the wireless…but since I was driving my prissy girly Lariat and not a bitchin’ Camaro or Randall “Pink” Floyd’s El Camino, I passed on.
Foghat & Blue Oyster Cult – Gates Open 6pm
Online Tickets Available $25.00
2008 CONCERT SERIES
Come out & enjoy Foghat & Blue Oyster Cult with John Epperson & Drivin’ Blind!!!
I wonder if Foghat and Blue Oyster Cult observed Earth Hour? Fuck, no, they didn’t…they had (have) the Marshalls cranked to 11, bitches. And I’m sure I couldn’t take that flogging, anyway…it’s better to imagine that I’d have had a rockiin’ good time.
That’s a rack of ultra-fine aged single-malt scotches. It had wheels, so you could take it with you, heh heh. I was such a redneck, I just wanted to drink the Scottish beer (and I did), but I did suck down a few shots 20 year-old Lachglenmorangivet in deference to my hosts, and we did indeed have haggis that night, and they had some dude come in and recite some Burns for us as a sort of blessing, Charles. That might even have been the name of the tune…The Blessing of the Haggis.
Needless to say, I never felt more at home outside of the Great Republic of Texas. Golfing, boozing, fishing, crappy weather, a gajillion newspapers…far too cold, though, especially in a skirt.
Ah, here we are — An Address to a Haggis. I’ve eaten worse, and it wasn’t that bad, and the poor bastards are hamstrung by a lack of native chilis.
There’s something beautiful about Marcia Ball followed by Steve Earle followed by The Allman Brothers followed by Justin Trevino. I’m so glad I’m a Texan that I can not only know these guys, but appreciate what they mean in the so-called Grand Scheme of Things.
And I had nothing to do with it…just soaked it all up, where it was, and where I was. It’s silly to even care as I approach 50, but screw it. I love it so much.
Dumbass wanders around, plants himself on the front steps, yaks away on a cell-phone. Memaw watches a while, and when he doesn’t leave, goes out the garage door to keep a closer eye on him. With Sam Colt’s equalizer, of course. I would hope my dear mother would do the same. I know I probably would be a bit uptight if some dipstick I’d never seen before wandered onto my porch and stood there squawking away in a foreign language, and I’ve probably got 20 years on Memaw.
Classic bit of Euro-pussy whimpering, too:
“I will show the photos to my wife and children,” Svensson told me. “They thought I was on a safe trip.”
He’s probably safer in that lady’s front yard than anywhere else he’s been in America. She’da probably made him a glass of tea if he hadn’t been so frightened.
Good ol’ CNN – “near President Bush’s ranch.” I guess they mean “near” as in, in the same county. I doubt this guy wandered 100 acres away to the nearest ranchette subdivision. I bet those Crawford people are tired of these shmucks, too, no matter how much money they’re making.
Oh, yeah – that numb tingly hand…carpal tunnel, per the doc. That explains partly my reluctance to keep chunking up tons of verbiage here. I guess one day I can get used to, as I read somewhere, my hand feeling like it belongs to a guy in another county. Meanwhile, I’ll wear this $35 splint that’s supposed to relax the wet stuff impinging on the tunnel that is carpal.
The bad thing is that this truly minor annoyance is seriously affecting my judgment about life in general. I’m wondering if, when the loss of sensation in two fingertips is driving me to distraction and crazed obsession, what happens when something really crappy happens? I’ve lived in my body too much, deriving too much pleasure from it and what it can do/tolerate. Well, could do, anyway. I’m still a long way from decrepitude, I think, but crap. I don’t really want to live with naught but this recalcitrant, noxious, pontificating, boring-in-every-way brain only. I guess that’s the end of the road, though, ain’t it? You and your idiot brain.
Yes, I’ve had a couple of toots of Jameson & Sons. Irish whisky sooths me a little. Stupid, ain’t it, that a couple of numb fingers cause this much angst, but you know, those fingers have been good to me for 47½ years, and now they desert me? And where’s the loyalty, Wrist? I built all you bastards up from nothing, and this middle-management white-collar desertion is the thanks I get? Fine, fine…I’ll pound you into bloody submission on this keyboard, and you’re going to end up burnt off by a hot dutch oven, but you won’t be able to blame me, because I tried.
A weekend with extremely intermittent internet tubes meant there were entire 8- to 12-hour blocks where I didn’t sit here typing or reading. And I made it. Quite nicely, too. Got some sh*t done that needed doing, like washing the truck and chasing down a table saw. I kind of vegged with all the roundy-round NASCAR stuff last night, and the Pokes today.
Speaking of the Pokes, they had their chances but NE is sure stout. Can we get to the Redskins, though?
ARLINGTON â€“ Itâ€™s a story that started with cars, bikes and planes. It ended Thursday when an Arlington man was arrested for allegedly driving a tractor while drunk.
The whole thing started when a man flagged down a trooper to say he thought someone was driving drunk. He told the trooper heâ€™d helped a man pull his car out of a ditch. About an hour later, he saw the same man with the same car in a different ditch.
Police dispatched a Washington State Patrol airplane to look for the drunken driver and troopers in the air quickly zeroed in on the Kubota tractor, Rudeen said.
Police think this is what happened:
The man drove his car into a ditch for the second time that morning. He walked home. He got his tractor, and used it to pull the car out of the ditch. After driving his car home, the man hopped on a bicycle and pedaled back to retrieve the tractor.
The man was at the wheel of the tractor, swerving along a country road, when troopers found him, Rudeen said.
Driving a huge piece of farm machinery while drunk is no laughing matter, Rudeen said.
Sadly, there are no pictures, of either the tractor or the very determined drunk. Where’s the dashboard video when you really need one?