Thursday, July 11, 2013

Three posts I don't care about, and one that is kind of interesting.

Althouse has had three posts this afternoon on boring stuff like reality TV, her never ending BobDylan fixation, and Wisconsin politics. (Apparently Wisconsinites are just as jingoistic and parochial in their desire to be Number 1 as any other set of people.)

And then there is a mildly interesting post about the difference between travel and tourism. Two travel writers make a big deal out of travel being superior to mere tourism, and Althouse takes them to task. At least before she gets side-tracked by her fixation with My Dinner with Andre.

My own take is that travel is something you do for work, or when you're on the lamb. Therefore I much prefer tourism. But then I always liked crapping on real toilets. (Travel is likely to get you either crapping in the woods, hoping that you don't piss off the bears, or stuck with things as described here.)

ADDED: It's not an empty room, or a empty old house. It's a desert

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

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