You know, since all this news broke about the National Security Agency's nefarious and deeply concerning forays into Internet data, writing these things seems a little more intimate. I like to envision agents looking over my digital shoulder as I'm typing, quietly urging me to catch typos and criticizing my oft-poor word choices.
By the way, props to Twitter who, unlike a great many tech companies, refused to go the extra mile to help the government mine information.
Also, President Obama's given orders the country must be ready to engage in CYBERWAR at the drop of a hat.
If all I told you is that there was a mass shooting yesterday in Southern California, you could probably piece together a pretty accurate narrative. The facts of these things have become grimly boilerplate: Mentally disturbed individual (apparently with a history of treatment), an assault rifle, numerous people dead. All that's left is to shade in the details, which are relatively scant at this point. Authorities still haven't released the name of the gunman (killed by police) or three of four people killed in a melee in and around a Santa Monica college.
International human rights icon Nelson Mandela was hospitalized today, with a "recurrent lung infection." He's 95.
Pakistan's new prime minister is dealing with his first US drone strike. He's not pleased.
Is ricin just easy to get? I feel like ricin must be easy to get. The latest person to be charged with sending ricin to the president and others? A Texas actress, who first tried to implicate her husband.
Well good. Terrifyingly bat-shit serial rapist and murderer Richard Ramirez is dead. What took out the "Night Stalker?" Liver failure.
The New York Post's fast-and-loose handling of the Boston Marathon bombing investigation has earned it a libel suit.
The Oregonian posted an interesting piece last night, revolving around the city's chief administrative officer's attempt to shift $200,000 in ratepayer money to the general fund. That's not kosher, under city rules, and resulted in an investigation. No one in the city's talking, though.
I'll say this about the Weather Widget: She loves a parade and she loves wearing her birthday suit atop a speeding velocipede. Escape the prying clutches of the NSA for just a little bit today, y'all. Go outside.
We men of the future have truly underachieved, fashion-wise. I can't speak for the rest of you, but I'm turning things around beginning TODAY.