As for me, the vacation continues forthwith. My cousin got married yesterday in Jersey City, at a place down by the river where it looks like you can just reach out and touch Manhattan with your hand. Nice ceremony (the bride and groom wrote their own vows, both sets of vows too soppy for my taste, but then again it wasnt my ceremony, was it?); my cousin looked massively uncomfortable in the formal rig; the bride was beautiful, and I dont mean that she was beautiful in the sense that all brides are beautiful on their wedding day, which is demonstrably untrue, however much her mother may say otherwise; I mean it literally-the girl is a knockout, a veritable Viagra substitute. How he managed to land her is one of the great mysteries of the modern world, if you ask me.
And my cousin had a bagpiper lead him and the bride up to the altar. He came first, to the tune of 'Roddy McCorley,' and then the bride and her father came afterwards, to the tune of 'The Rose of Tralee,' even though her family is originally from Agrigento, a city on the western coast of Sicily. Maybe it's just me but I'm pretty sure that only at an Irish wedding, or in this case a half Irish wedding, will you find a man being led up to the altar to enter into the state of holy matrimony by a piper playing a song about a man being led to his own execution. I'm pretty sure the Italians missed the significance of the song, but the older Irish folks didnt; there were at least three old-timers who looked like they were going to burst out laughing listening to the piper. And so it goes.
Anyway, here we go:
Chris Byrne at The Anarchangel is having his troubles with someone who hasn't gotten the word that Islam is a religion of peace.
This past Friday our friendly neighborhood Curmudgeon let loose on the Gray Lady and lapdancing for Uncle Sam.
Dympha at The Gates of Vienna wonders if the cultural rot in Britain can be reversed.
And Semper Fi at The Passing Parade...the other one has some suggestions about what to do about the borders.