Oh hai, Austin!

Boo-hoo for the insurance weasels.
Boo-hoo for the Prince of Petulance.

Go House!  (Override was by larger measure than original passage.)
Go Senate!

FINAL VOTE: 70-26 in the Senate!!!  

Update: Senate Roll Call (h/t histopresto)

House Roll Call (h/t Llarian)

From the comments:

Why this is important for our veterans and their families.

Why this is important for people suffering from mental illness.

From blue jersey mom in Brothers and Sisters tonight:

And a short prayer for an end of the diaries that pit one "generation" against another. We are going to need everyone's help to turn this country around.

I am so amazingly sick and tired of the generational warfare diaries here on Daily Kos.  Not only do I see no purpose to them, but I also feel that they feed into the Karl Rove-driven divide-everyone-into-categories and market to those categories meme that has reduced our country into Volvo-driving, latte-drinking, cat-owing Liberals vs. oh, whatever -- and encouraged us to fight amongst ourselves because of them.    I am not a category.  And neither are you.  And I refuse to fight other progressives on the basis of the year of their birth. How incredibly unproductive this sort of fight is.

These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
These had seen movement, and heard music; known
Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.
There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.

~ Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)

There is one cardinal rule in my family: You mess with one of us, and you have messed with all of us.  Period.

We are all glib wordsmiths and naturally snarky, and intra-family ribbing is not only tolerated but celebrated -- as it was, happily, this past Fourth of July weekend in Vermont, where we were lucky enough to be together.  We can rib each other with impunity, but no outsider, not anyone, may rib one of us without having the others join in universal condemnation.  We are loyal to each other, to a fault.  

And that’s a good thing.

Yo! Here at Top Comments we strive to recognize and promote the talent of this community by highlighting outstanding comments found throughout the day by the diarist, and more importantly through nominations made at TopComments at gmail dot com by your fellow Kossacks. Include your username so we can credit you, and send 'em in by 9:45pm Eastern to ensure they make the final diary.

These nominations are subjective, and certainly not complete (as no one can read the complete site on a daily basis!). But we hope they will serve to shine a light where deserved, and to give the reader a good starting point in finding conversation on the site.

Please come in and make yourself at home...

Army Sgt. Gene F. Clark was buried today at a cemetery outside of his hometown of Muncie, Indiana.  On the way to the cemetery, his flag-draped coffin was driven past his childhood home.

Army Sgt. Edward J. O’Brien will be buried on July 2nd in Minneapolis, Minnesota, with full military honors.

Sgt. Clark and Sgt. O’Brien died just three weeks and ten miles from each other, each on cold battlefields near Unsan, North Korea, in November 1950.  Their bodies were not recovered for decades.

Join us in remembering these gallant young men tonight, both of whom are finally home.

Tried hard.

I don't like ALL CAPS in headlines, but golly, I just LOVE announcing good news.  Can we have a drum roll, please?!

Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened.

~ Anatole France

(photos by Photos by smitme for Kinship Circle on Flickr; published with the written permission of Best Friends Animal Society)

My father -- my beloved Dad -- was a son of privilege.  He died, as did Tim Russert, so very suddenly -- in my Dad’s case on January 22, 2000.  We know it was sudden, because my wonderful Mom and our beloved Madison discovered his crumpled body, just before dawn, next to the light switch he had apparently just turned on, very early in the morning.

My Dad died in the lovely rental house in Southern California my parents had moved into just a month earlier.  To move there, my Dad had given up the dream house (for him) that he and my Mom had built after his retirement, on a barrier island in South Texas.  

My Mom had never been happy there.  During the construction, I would have hysterically funny calls with my Dad (I spoke with him every day) about the latest outrage with the construction.  My parents were living in an apartment on the beach and Dad would say: "The electricians drilled holes in your mother’s tiles and she went out for a walk and I’m not sure if she is coming back."

You, whose forebodings have been all fulfilled,
You who have heard the bell, seen the boy stand
Holding the flimsy message in his hand
While through your heart the fiery question thrilled
"Wounded or killed, which, which?"--and it was "Killed--"
And in a kind of trance have read it, numb
But conscious that the dreaded hour was come,
No dream this dream wherewith your blood was chilled--
Oh brothers in calamity, unknown
Companions in the order of black loss,
Lift up your hearts, for your are not alone.

~ Henry Christopher Bradby
 April 1918

Last year, kid oakland drew from his knowledge, wisdom, experience and considerable energy to pull together a scholarship program that sent 19 people to Chicago for Yearly Kos. This year, Democracy for America is doing the same for Netroots Nation.  DFA is accepting applications for the cost of registration and the hotel. There are already 93 applicants -- including our own Carnacki, Troutfishing, mataliandy, Terri, fbihop and betson08.

Democracy for America

Months ago, I ordered my Barack Obama yard sign.

My Mom and I have a house on a pretty street, bordered by other modest 1950s suburban houses set back from the road, that links a bucolic parkway with the local hospital -- at rush hour, a lot of cars pass by.  I was so proud to have my Jim Webb sign out there in 2006; I looked forward to putting out the "Obama for President" sign last winter, when it arrived.

My Mom, with whom I have lived since the awful year that my Dad died and I got divorced, said no.  "Not until he’s the nominee," she said.  And because it’s her house, too, I put the sign in a lower kitchen cabinet and waited.

Barack Obama is our country at its best!

You, whose forebodings have been all fulfilled,
You who have heard the bell, seen the boy stand
Holding the flimsy message in his hand
While through your heart the fiery question thrilled
"Wounded or killed, which, which?"--and it was "Killed--"
And in a kind of trance have read it, numb
But conscious that the dreaded hour was come,
No dream this dream wherewith your blood was chilled--
Oh brothers in calamity, unknown
Companions in the order of black loss,
Lift up your hearts, for your are not alone.

~ Henry Christopher Bradby
  April 1918

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

~ Walt Whitman
 Song of Myself

There is a terrible disease that runs in my family.  It has to do with genetics.  We do not know on what gene it rests, and it is so rare that members of my family are part of a study group to identify it.  And because I know that insurance companies read blogs to find personal information like this, I have no intention of saying at which university the gene is being studied -- and I would never identify which members of my family have been identified as possibly carrying it.  

How sad this all is, that my family cannot use the internet to help us find a cure.  But the risks are too great.  This is one more legacy of the Bush Administration.

But what I wanted to write about is getting the diagnosis, as Senator Kennedy has received in the past few days.