This one's close to home for me since I'm from Las Vegas, but should get everyone's hackles up. Here's the story from the LV local the Review Journal .

The FBI was granted special investigative powers in Las Vegas following the elevated "orange" terrorist alert level around the holidays. It is estimated that as many as 300,000 people had their personal information handed over to authorities, including names, addresses, phone #s, credit card information, etc. The information was gathered from hotels, casinos, and the airport. A disturbing point is that no effort was made to deaggregate the information, which means that all info was handed over whether required or not, no time was taken to make sure only info requested in the individual requests was submitted (they basically gave everything they had on every guest). The FBI also has the power to make follow-up requests for individual guests and to start investigations with any part of the data mined. Ironically this flies fat in the face of Las Vegas' new slogan, `What you do here stays here' Maybe it should be amended, `What you do here stays here, unless the FBI says differently.'

This morning I awoke to a mysterious sound, the result of which eminated from below my peripheral undersight. The rythym varied but the pulse was never satisfied. A bit of both pleasure and elastic, manueverings allowing perfect moment to ensue. The story at this point must undergo a wendung (d.). An underlying cause must be found. Language must not be used frivolously, to the benefit of only one, who's typing. Vietnafood is good especially twice. The third time in reverse makes much less sense though it titilates aural nerves. Isn't it ironic, don't you think, a little too ironic, and yeah i really do think. But it somehow manages to figur. Life, such a funny place. Helping you out. I feel that way when I go to Olean. Sometimes. I love to attach some- to my words. It is satisfying, for vanilla white bread. Or Swede. We feel it, really, on the inside. You couldn't tell on the outside. I wish you could more. I wish I could.

An entry whose stimulation derives from digesting <ahem> matthew's excellent Poopeye dissertation:
I think one can liken the process of cognitive thinking to the progression of thoughts on farts. Far-fetched, say you? I start with the memory of parents telling you, especially after particularlly pungent episodes, that farting is bad and not to be done in public. In high school and college you come, through experimentation and practice, to the realization that farting is a normal thing-everybody does it. So you start farting in public, you and your friends do it and even have commentary and contests. Eventually, you have the experiment with lighters which ends in pure frivolity. That's stage one. Eventually you have a partner and such, and you know what? You don't want to smell their farts anymore. You realize they do it, know it's normal and that the whole world farts, yet somehow it's better if they do it somewhere else. Hence, you come to this ethical realization that though it's a normal process that everyone partakes in, somehow it should remain a personal and private thing; for very pragmatic reasons. We can all grow to become individuals that recognize the needs of others. Selfless acts, such as retreating to a private place to flatulate, are examples of altruism reserved for sapient beings. Isn't it nice to be evolved?

I wanted to say something but not too much because my star will only last for a couple hours and then no one will read it. We went to Vietnamese food today where we finally learned how to order the appetizer we like the best. We had on the last two occasions gotten it wrong and received other, albeit equally delicious, tasties. The difference lay in the season. We were ordering spring rolls and what we really wanted were summer rolls. The cute little waiter was kind enough to tell us of the differences in the vietnamese food lexicon. Thank you cute little waiter. The water there is spiked with lime. Tasty. I almost started writing an essay today. Hopefully soon I will really do it. It is about morals. I can't decide if it's really useful to tell my truths in a format only accessible to erudite readers. Probably just an excuse to sit on my ass longer. K, nuff fo now.

• here is a new link i've added to my sidebar . Apears funny on first glance.

I don't really want to talk about extraneous whatevers right now, and maybe never again, I think it might lead to a bad place. Also coonskin caps are neat except for the coon part of them...

I watched TV three nights in a row now. All-told maybe 5 hours. Something needs to change. Most likely me. I really want to be a farmer. Really though, not just in a dreamy hippy way. I want to grow a good deal of my food (at least the majority of the veggies) and then maybe grow some alternative drug/supplement as a "cash crop". Maybe I could open up my own greenhouse with exotic plants. Something though. I keep trying to think of satisfying career choices and find almost nothing appealing. I just want out of everything. I sound like a teenager, I know. I don't feel like I've been broken enough to just keel over and take the money-making job though. What to do? I think I'll read a book about a magical land. Escape. Bye.