And therefore, there shall be no blogging. Instead, as usual, I adopt the words written here.

No. But it is Rosh Hashanah, and I decided to take a break. I might tomorrow as well, since it is the second day.

L'shana tova tikatevu to all applicable parties.

I am something of a coffee snob, I suppose, but I am deeply proud to state that I have never, ever, ever driven any barista to the kind of insensate rage that Ben Domenech had every right to feel in a previous iteration. To the extent that I am a snob, it is because I generally take my coffee only at certain establishments and that I try to distinguish and discriminate amongst the best individual franchises that particular establishment has. And yes, my name is Pejman and I am a Starbucks addict. But I am quite easygoing when it comes to my venti cappuccinos and while I will tell a barista how I like my coffee if they ask, I do not even presume to tell them how to pull the shots, what temperature the milk ought to be and what specific prayers ought to be offered to the caffeine gods prior to imbibing a cup of joe.

Incidentally, would it be evil for me to want to see what would happen if people like Ben's Nightmare Customer From Hell were allowed to prepare their own coffee to their own specifications . . . and then drink it? If some overwrought coffee snob actually did get the chance to heat her milk to the temperature of molten lava and then imbibed the liquid consequences of her decision . . . well, I imagine that baristas would find the aftermath most amusing.

RedState Brother Moe Lane sends this via e-mail. For those of you who doubt the humor and the underlying truth behind this comic, read this.

Don't doubt it anymore, now do you?

George Washington's boyhood home has been found.

I have, at the very least, a mild case of NADD. While I was reading this blog post of self-discovery, I had Bach's Brandenburg Concertos going in iTunes (I was listening to the Coffee Cantata earlier in the afternoon), I had two Gmail windows up, was rather insistently engaged in writing e-mails concerning the need for the Right to refurbish and augment its presence in the Blogosphere in one of those windows and I was occasionally checking my Facebook Chess and Scrabulous accounts throughout the afternoon to see if anyone had made a move.

I'd like to think that all of this is good. Really, I would. Of course, I shut off everything or just move the heck away from the computer if I want to read a book and I will keep the BlackBerry away during that time lest it distracts me. Oh, and I guess I should add that this rings a few bells as well. Not all of them, but quite a few indeed.

I propose the following syllogism:

1. Dennis the Peasant was 37, and yet, "not old":

2. As of today, I am 36.

3. Therefore, I am "not old" with a year to spare. But I guess this means I have to watch out for when I become 38.

PS: Blogging will resume on Tuesday.

Because, Heaven knows, he keeps giving us reason to:

Scott McClellan's most explosive charges about the Iraq war are based not on any new evidence but rather on his reading of books and magazine articles after leaving the White House and on a period of "reflection."

On morning talk shows this morning, Mr. McClellan repeated a statement from his book: that he charges President Bush with a misleading the country into war based on reading a book by reporter Bob Woodward.

Mr. McClellan said on NBC's "Meet the Press" that he realized Mr. Bush had in late 2001 made up his mind to invade Iraq "when the president did interviews with Bob Woodward for his book."

[. . .]

During the interview, the 40-year old former Bush administration press secretary defended his portrait of Mr. Bush as "too stubborn to change and grow," but also admitted he should have voiced his doubts and questions about the march to war in 2002 and 2003.

Mr. McClellan made no effort, however, to bolster the sourcing for the most serious charge in his book, that the president based the case for war on possible weapons of mass destruction only to hide his true motivation: the introduction of "coercive democracy" in the Middle East.

This charge has been given great authority because of Mr. McClellan's former status as a White House insider.

But a close reading of his book, "What Happened: Inside the Bush White House and Washingtons Culture of Corruption," shows that he reveals no new information about the presidents motives.

[. . .]

Reed Dickens, one of Mr. McClellans former deputies, said he found his former boss' book "pathetic in substance."

"He didn't have any damning evidence or quotes or conversation. I was flipping through the book, waiting to find something damning, and there wasn't really anything," Mr. Dickens said Friday night on "Larry King Live."

Dan Bartlett, the president's former counselor, has also repeatedly said on TV that there are no new facts presented in the book.

Conservative blogger Paul Mirengoff on Thursday noted that Mr. McClellan's book "is devoid of footnotes, endnotes, and supporting documentation."

Mr. Mirengoff, a Washington attorney who writes for the Powerline blog, says Mr. McClellan's book is a sharp contrast to former Pentagon official and war architect Douglas J. Feith's book "War and Decision: Inside the Pentagon at the Dawn of the War on Terrorism."

Mr. Feith's book "provides detailed accounts of key meetings based on contemporaneous notes," wrote Mr. Mirengoff. "And it includes more than 30 pages of original source material plus almost 90 pages of endnotes. Readers can thus determine for themselves whether the author is providing a reliable account or merely settling scores and/or trying to make a buck."

And here I thought that books are supposed to be original, interesting and that they should provide something new and fresh to the public discourse.

This guy may help save the English language. If so, we owe him a tremendous debt of gratitude:

(Via Mark Swanson.)

That which doesn't kill New York only makes it stronger.

This ought to give you the giggles for a while:

(Via Tom Smith.)

Just like California, except without the excellent, year-round weather:

Residents across the Midwest were awakened Friday by a 5.2 magnitude earthquake that rattled skyscrapers in Chicago's Loop and homes in Cincinnati but appeared to cause no major injuries or damage.

Dozens of aftershocks followed, one with a magnitude of 4.5.

The quake just before 4:37 a.m. was centered six miles from West Salem, Ill., and 45 miles from Evansville, Ind. It was felt in such distant cities as Milwaukee, Des Moines, Iowa, and Atlanta, nearly 400 miles to the southeast.

"It shook our house where it woke me up," said David Behm of Philo, 10 miles south of Champaign. "Windows were rattling, and you could hear it. The house was shaking inches. For people in central Illinois, this is a big deal. It's not like California."

In West Salem itself, a chimney on one house fell and there were reports of cracks in walls. "We're very thankful we had no one injured," said Harvey Fenton, the town's police and fire chief.

He was at first unsure what to make of the sudden rumbling when it woke him up.

"A major shaking is the best way I can describe it," said Fenton, 58.

We shall see if I survive the year.

This post is not in keeping with the usual Chequer-Board tone of Chicago-style (in several senses) wit, but I'm going to go with it anyway.

According to the database released to accompany a new report on motorcycle safety, Henry County, Georgia had two fatal motorcyle accidents in 2006, two in 2005, and three in 2004.  The database only goes up to 2006, but I can tell you that there was at least one fatal motorcycle accident in Henry County in 2007.  The victim was my brother-in-law.  He would have been 39 this past March.

And before you ask: yes, he was wearing a helmet; yes, he had plenty of experience with bikes; and no, there was not a motorcycle-ignorant car involved in the accident, as best I know.  He was going very fast.  He lost control somehow.  That was enough.

Look -- I've never driven a motorcycle, but I've ridden on the back of one, and I can appreciate how exhilarating an experience it can be to be just you and the bike and the wind.  And if my brother-in-law were still here he probably wouldn't appreciate the lecture.  But to take a stat from the report: 42% of motorcyclists killed between 2002 and 2006 were not wearing a helmet at the time.  That means that a majority of the motorcycle riders killed between 2002 and 2006 were wearing helmets.

Look, you say (at least one guy said this on the Times blog post that alerted me to the report): it's my life, I know the risk.  My brother-in-law knew the risks just fine.  He'd already lost one girlfriend to a car -- not even a bike -- accident.  You know who didn't know the risk?  His youngest daughter.  She's five.  She can't spell risk.

You are not obliged, by the way, to post a comment here to tell me how stupid Chris was.  I know.  I've known for almost a year.  My family knows.  Everyone who loved him knows.

So if you are going to buy a bike: one, have fun with it; two, at least wait until your children are going to be old enough to remember you; three, get lots of life insurance first.

And yes, these are important to note. As many of them as possible, in fact, William F. Buckley was a larger-than-life figure and when it comes to measuring the impact of larger-than-life figures, a few remembrances simply will not do.

In shocking news, we learn that if you are stressed and sedentary, your health is at risk. Just remember, folks, the New Media is not more important than your health.

Terry Teachout has a lovely look back at both the memorialization and life of William F. Buckley. Of course, this is wonderful and one fully expects many more memos like this one to come from Celestial Management.

Just . . . cold.

(Thanks to the Smithians for the link.)

This had to have been fun to write. If Glenn Greenwald didn't exist, we might have been forced to invent him.

And why not? He's invented other people.

I am in awe.

Matt Welch makes the case that IKEA is your favorite libertarian-ish furniture (and meatball, and light bulb, and battery, and toy, and framed art, and ginger cookie) seller.  I don't think that's entirely right: being anti-tax is one thing, having a business structure so opaque you can bounce off it is another.  Nonetheless, I would guess that IKEA, like Target, has been able to contribute to the democratization of design so favored by a certain other libertarian (whom I hadn't realized is battling breast cancer. Keep getting well, Ms. Postrel!).

Also, the Atlanta IKEA, from my experience, has the second-most diverse clientele in the metropolitan area.  (The most diverse clientele belongs to Your DeKalb Farmer's Market, by a mile.)  I don't know if that's unique to Atlanta -- I don't remember noticing it when I went to the only other IKEA I've ever visited, in New Jersey, but back then I was in too desperate need of a place to store clothes than pay attention to my surroundings.   I don't know whether IKEA's vague Europeanishness means that it doesn't get identified as a "white" or "black" store, or IKEA is attracting a more diverse clientele because there are more middle-class minorities in greater Atlanta than there were 10 years ago and thus similar stores are also attracting a more diverse clientele, or just that the showroom layout means you spend a lot more time taking notice of your fellow shoppers. Or all three. 

I personally adore IKEA, and have the armchair, the bookshelves, the glass table, and the boxes to prove it.  But no IKEA piece, even by an admirer, is complete without pointing you to The IKEA Walkthrough, v2.3.1 (h/t to one of Welch's commenters) and the Jonathan Coulton song.