Had a strange dream Monday night where I was in some largish, darkly-lit meeting room (almost like the business casual equivalent of an opium lounge conference room) with Brandon Whichard eating dried edamame. A continually morphing character of Steve Mills/Sam Palmisano came into the room. Brandon and he started talking about programming in Java, as I recall. After awhile, I was chided by Mills/Palmisano for not jumping into the conversation and taking advantage of him being there.

Had a strange dream Monday night where I was in some largish, darkly-lit meeting room (almost like the business casual equivalent of an opium lounge conference room) with Brandon Whichard eating dried edamame. A continually morphing character of Steve Mills/Sam Palmisano came into the room. Brandon and he started talking about programming in Java, as I recall. After awhile, I was chided by Mills/Palmisano for not jumping into the conversation and taking advantage of him being there.

Had a strange dream Monday night where I was in some largish, darkly-lit meeting room (almost like the business casual equivalent of an opium lounge conference room) with Brandon Whichard eating dried edamame. A continually morphing character of Steve Mills/Sam Palmisano came into the room. Brandon and he started talking about programming in Java, as I recall. After awhile, I was chided by Mills/Palmisano for not jumping into the conversation and taking advantage of him being there.

At Frank, it's hot-dog gimmicks and bacon galore, but they're good eating at not too high of a cost. We have a weird mixture of "hand crafted"/local food and a love of fast-food here in Austin resulting in gourmet food from trailers, burger battles, and now hot-dogs. The "Artisan" hot-dogs are fun and tasty - I like the antelope and rabbit one, the Jackalope. Also, the regular hot-dogs, optionally wrapped in a flapjack (a corn pancake), are delicious as well.

At Frank, it's hot-dog gimmicks and bacon galore, but they're good eating at not too high of a cost. We have a weird mixture of "hand crafted"/local food and a love of fast-food here in Austin resulting in gourmet food from trailers, burger battles, and now hot-dogs. The "Artisan" hot-dogs are fun and tasty - I like the antelope and rabbit one, the Jackalope. Also, the regular hot-dogs, optionally wrapped in a flapjack (a corn pancake), are delicious as well.

At Frank, it's hot-dog gimmicks and bacon galore, but they're good eating at not too high of a cost. We have a weird mixture of "hand crafted"/local food and a love of fast-food here in Austin resulting in gourmet food from trailers, burger battles, and now hot-dogs. The "Artisan" hot-dogs are fun and tasty - I like the antelope and rabbit one, the Jackalope. Also, the regular hot-dogs, optionally wrapped in a flapjack (a corn pancake), are delicious as well.

Check out this excerpt from the pretty good report “TORA BORA REVISITED: HOW WE FAILED TO GET BIN LADEN AND WHY IT MATTERS TODAY”: Afghan villagers who were providing food and other supplies for the Al Qaeda fighters at Tora Bora also confirmed bin Laden’s presence. Fury said some of the villagers were paid by the CIA for information about precise locations of clusters of fighters that could be targeted for bombing runs.

Check out this excerpt from the pretty good report “TORA BORA REVISITED: HOW WE FAILED TO GET BIN LADEN AND WHY IT MATTERS TODAY”: Afghan villagers who were providing food and other supplies for the Al Qaeda fighters at Tora Bora also confirmed bin Laden’s presence. Fury said some of the villagers were paid by the CIA for information about precise locations of clusters of fighters that could be targeted for bombing runs.

But the Saigon years would not be happy ones. After all those years learning control, discipline, making those the touchstones of his life, Max Taylor was now confronted by the wild irrationality, the deviousness, the maliciousness and venality of the South Vietnamese. It was somehow unfair; people who are about to be saved from the Communists should feel some element of gratitude, and at the very least the gratitude should surface in the form of knowing they were being saved, and more important, wanting to be saved.

But the Saigon years would not be happy ones. After all those years learning control, discipline, making those the touchstones of his life, Max Taylor was now confronted by the wild irrationality, the deviousness, the maliciousness and venality of the South Vietnamese. It was somehow unfair; people who are about to be saved from the Communists should feel some element of gratitude, and at the very least the gratitude should surface in the form of knowing they were being saved, and more important, wanting to be saved.