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ROCKVILLE, Md. - Police investigating a teenager accused of bomb-making and weapons violations found a map of Camp David with a presidential motorcade route in his home, a Montgomery County prosecutor said.
Collin McKenzie-Gude, 18, of Bethesda, also had a document that appears to describe how to kill someone 200 meters away, Montgomery Assistant State's Attorney Peter A. Feeney said.

The teen had two forms of fake identification — one portraying him as a Central Intelligence Agency employee and another as a federal contractor, Feeney said. The details were revealed Tuesday

District Court Judge J. Michael Conroy kept McKenzie-Gude in jail on a $750,000 bond, reduced from $1 million. The teen faces charges of weapons violations, possession of explosives and attempted carjacking.

Authorities said they found 50 pounds of chemicals, assault-style weapons and armor-piercing bullets in his home. The investigation has expanded to include the CIA, FBI and Secret Service.

A 17-yr-old was also involved, and they knocked down a 78 yr old man while trying to get the man's car keys and steal his car. They also had a list of teacher's home addresses.
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Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand.
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command,
Your old road is rapidly agin';
Please get out of the new one if you can't lend your hand,
For the times they are a changin'.
http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5g798CHaazwkE1E0TMQv8AZ60Bj1wD91DKPI00

Like all really inevitable and natural development, this one surprised everybody, including me. Well, what the Hell did we all expect? People like babies. Women particularly like babies. Girls - with a few exceptions in whose personal history it is all too easy to read the emotional reasons - intensely love babies. You cannot introduce a baby among a group of schoolgirls without being practically drowned by cooings and bursts of wonder at the cuteness of them. Nobody should have expected that this natural instinct could be for ever silenced by an artificial image of a brilliant career woman, something which, for nine women out of ten, has no reality at all. Women look at Sex and the City with its childless, unmarried, rich, elegant forty-years-old, as they read Hello magazine: as a kind of fable. I do not understand the appeal myself, but I very much doubt whether it has anything to do with daily or real life. Women read their glossy magazines in ordinary, sometimes drab homes, and do not seem to make much of an effort to imitate them. It all seems to me to live in a special space of the mind dedicated to unreality. If any woman identifies with the Sex and the City characters, it cannot be because of their surroundings or careers; it is more a matter of the common complaint about weak, shiftless, commitment-phobic men - which, whether or not it is true, is at least a commonplace female whine. The idea that millions of schoolgirls go out into the great wide world in the hope of becoming top corporate lawyers, marketing VPs, or even fashion designers or Hollywood actresses, seems to me naive in the extreme. Some of them may dream of such things; most of them know that they never will happen. And the universal cultural pressure on girls to regard babies as obstacles in the way of their careers is increasingly nullified by the fact that, across the advanced world, the vast majority of women know that they will have no careers. The idea of spending one's life moving forwards in a job until one achieves a high and permanent rank is outdated, not only for the majority of women, but of men too. The same people who tried to scare us with the fear of being hobbled to babies for life also informed us, in the same breath, that the notion of jobs for life is an outdated superstition.

Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide;
The chance won't come again.
And don't speak too soon
For the world's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who that it's namin';
For the loser now will be later to win,
For the times, they are a changin'.

It is a case study in the power and limit of cultural consensus. They removed the stigma from illegitimacy; these days, most people who call someone a "bastard" (and weirdly enough, it is a popular insult) do not know what is meant to be insulting about the term. But they could not remove the attraction from babies, or the magnetism from sex. Every attempt to make maternity unattractive or dreaded must founder on the reality of human nature. A number of people will no doubt absorb these attitudes: they are the kind who, for one reason or another, deviate from the human average. The majority may well learn to repeat them by rote, but will never internalize them; their emptiness will become manifest - they will vanish like mist in the sun - at the sight of a single real baby. You have made it easier, not harder, for your children to have babies. The result, as I said, should have been expected; it is only the result of our universal attachment to statistics - which are, after all, always yesterday's news - that kept us from seeing the obvious.

I am not saying that there will ever be a fad for having babies as such among sixteen-year-olds. One good (or rather bad) experience of childbirth would knock that sort of nonsense on the head, and at any rate even sixteen-year-olds are not that silly. The point is rather that the coming generation is beginning to instinctively see its future, not in terms of career - they learned at the cradle how difficult and fickle a thing it is - but in terms of children, of family, of heirs. These girls know that in nine times out of ten, what will give their lives continuity and content will not be the ever-changing, mostly frustrating, sometimes dangerous and unwelcoming, reality of work, but their families; that their real life is apt to be at home, with a husband or partner if they are lucky, but with a baby anyway. And like young people across the world, they are impatient to start.

The line, it is drawn.
The curse, it is cast.
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is rapidly fadin'.
AND THE FIRST ONES NOW WILL LATER BE LAST -
For the times, they are a changin'.
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I have been moderately ill (nothing to worry about, I assure you) for a few days, so this entry is later than I meant it. The event it describes took place last week. Even so, it is something so wonderful and important that I decided to post it anyway.

You will not often find me speaking well of the rich, especially of the rich by hereditary privilege. There is, however, a certain kind of good deed that is possible only to those who have enormous amounts of money to dispose of – amounts such as to allow large-scale beneficence while being certain of not beggaring one’s heirs. This kind of behaviour was more common in ancient and medieval times, when generosity was held to be a virtue of kings and great lords; but it has not died out even now – and just yesterday the world was reminded what enormous wealth could do, if used for anything other than selfish ends.

One of the richest families in Britain are the Sainsburys. Not only have they founded what is now the second largest retail chain in the kingdom, but, unlike other famous founding families, they have managed both to keep the business in their collective hands and to keep it prospering. The wealth this generated has been spread down four generations and across a remarkably large number of Sainsbury cousins, one of the richest of whom was Lord Simon Sainsbury.

Lord Simon had already done a lot for the heritage of the United Kingdom by being one of the chief donors in the collective Sainsbury gift that allowed London’s National Gallery, the greatest art museum in Britain and one of the greatest in the world, to expand its exhibition space by, I should guess, fifty per cent. I visited the Sainsbury Wing several times, and regard it as a valuable addition to London. However, when his will was made known yesterday, it became clear that this was only part of what we all owe him. He has left eighteen paintings to the National and Tate Galleries (the Tate Gallery is the art museum dedicated specifically to British art). And not just any paintings. One of those of which the most fuss was made was a Francis Bacon – a painter I loathe; but there were no less than three splendid Lucien Freuds – Freud being without a doubt the greatest living British painter – and it went up from there. A Gauguin still life – beautiful. A Bonnard. The best Douanier Rousseau I have ever seen (they were shown on TV). And to close the list, two truly incomparable Monets – incomparable, of course, except to other Monet masterpieces. As far as I am concerned, Monet is one of the greatest painters who ever lived, to be mentioned in one breath with Rembrandt, Tiziano, Raffaello, and – this may be heresy, but I think so – superior in achievement to Michelangelo. And these two were wholly representative of his achievement: an incredibly atmospheric early (1875) landscape with figures in snow, and a glorious late painting of water and reflected light, of the kind that nobody except Monet ever thought of doing, and of the very best of his kind. I could have looked at it for hours. Luckily the bequest will have a public exhibition next summer before being split between the two museums, so I can look at it as a whole and from life rather than a TV screen.

This is not just a munificent gift, but one made by a man who knows what is good (I’ll forgive the Bacon) and who, being able to buy what he wanted, has thought long and hard on what to buy. Every one of those paintings was significant. Not just a Douanier Roussau, but that Douanier Rousseau; not just a Monet or a Freud, but those Monets and those Freuds. The museums could never have bought even one of them, at today’s art market prices. And Lord Simon has left them to the country, to be enjoyed and learned from by anyone who cares to (access to the great London museums is generally free). This is an act that positively improves London and England; that adds to the stores of beauty, artistic truth, and artistic thought available to the capital. Not many people can make such a claim. No doubt there will have been some tax advantage to the residuary heirs; such bequests are encouraged by law, and carefully negotiated in advance with the tax authorities. But the quality and consistency of the gift reduces any mercenary motives to insignificance, whether or not they were there. As far as I am concerned, a gift of such quality deserves to have all tax remitted for ten years in sheer gratitude.

We do not have the language to properly thank a man for something like this. Once upon a time – I do not know whether they do it still – the National Assembly of France used to vote thanks to successful politicians or generals or diplomats with the austere and economical formula: “Citizen so-and-so has well deserved of the Fatherland”. Something like that ought to be said now: for Citizen Simon Sainsbury truly has a great and unique claim to the gratitude of his country, of his fellow-citizens, and indeed of the whole civilized world.
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Considering how the average Arab feels about Israel, it says a lot about Egyptian tolerance and good nature that so few such things happen on Egyptian soil. What caused this disaster was the fact that the Israeli tourists felt safe in Taaba.

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