Michael Hampton at Homeland Security or Homeland Stupidity is hosting Carnival of Liberty #40 (or "Extra Large," if you don’t like Arabic numerals). He’s organized the submissions into subject-matter categories, the two main ones being "Economy" and "Political Thought." Check it out. I was drawn to Thomas Anger’s post, The Causes of Economic Growth, at the new home of Liberty Corner. But then I noticed that cause #1 was "Hard worK," so I quit reading. 
Also, check out Carnival of Cordite #54 at Resistance Is Futile. Gullyborg leads off with the world’s largest shotgun (way cool!) and has lots of his own good commentary this week, especially regarding the gradual gains in gun rights and the absolutists’ dismissals of them. There are also some really interesting submissions. For instance, Denise at The Ten Ring described a conversation with her "moonbat co-workers" about the upcoming film United 93, which included this (emphasis added):
I think she stopped talking when she saw my face turning red. I told her that the people on Flight 93 are my personal heroes and I named Jeremy Glick, Mark Bingham, and Todd Beamer. Someone else gave an opinion that floored me and that gives a whole new definition to moonbattery. She felt it was sad that those passengers died while fighting. She thought they should have sat quietly and reflected on their lives and that struggling cheated them of their final moments of peace.
Unbelievable. I’m simply amazed that such people exist.
Finally, check out the latest winning Watcher’s Council entries, (or maybe the complete list of nominees). Rhymes With Right’s winning council entry was interesting (teacher Greg talks to students about immigration), but I really liked Gates of Vienna’s runner-up, Aztlan and al-Andalus: Return to a Mythical Golden Age. On the non-council side, I strongly recommend winner Gerard Van der Leun’s On the Return of History, a terrific essay that begins:
IN THE DAYS AFTER THE TOWERS FELL, in the ash that covered the Brooklyn street where I lived at that time, in the smoke that rose for months from that spot across the river, when rising up in the skyscraper I worked in, or riding deep beneath the river in the subway, or passing the thousand small shrines of puddled candle wax below the walls with the hundreds of photographs of "The Missing," it was not too much to say that you could feel the doors of history open all about you.
Fine writing. Fine thinking. Go read the whole thing.
