Last night, I made my way to the beach to watch the sun set and the moon rise. Every night, God paints a masterpiece in the skies. No two paintings are ever exactly alike. At first, one large cloud was English-Channel grey and black but it soon revealed a heart of smudged copper. That same cloud became suffused, irradiated, by soft, glowing pink.

And all was silent except for the cries of wheeling, gliding birds.

In the so-called "real" world: an imperial Russia set Georgia on fire; Kashmir remained on fire; the Taliban bombed a bus of civilians in Pakistan, killing at least 13 people; three female aid workers and their driver were killed in Afghanistan.

Humanity seems to be subtracting from, not adding to, beauty and harmony.

At the Olympic Games, world records were repeatedly broken. Male beach volleyball players were properly attired; their female counterparts wore eye-catching bikinis and I was mortified on their behalf.

I am not really on vacation. I wrote and published a Letter to the Editor in the pages of the New York Times which took issue with Bridget O'Rourke's long piece about female suicide bombers. FOX-TV aired their important documentary on honor murders in America yet again. I am interviewed on camera. Therefore, the Chicago Tribune called to interview me on the subject. Since the mainstream media has so far refused to deal with the subject, I am pleased to be of service. And, I've just received the edited version of my academic article on the subject for Daniel Pipes' excellent journal.

What's it gonna be? Sky-gazing–or wrestling with fairly hellish footnotes?