On Second Thought

. . . I don't want to see SCOTUS turned into an episode of The Sopranos. Maybe we'd better find someone else; we're already heavy on the wops.

I wish you'd stop looking at me like that.

Michael Yon and Bruce Willis.

You go, boys.

So Now I'm an Official PoMo.

Mom will be so proud: "that's wonderful, Dear. But I've been meaning to talk to you about your sugar intake." (This from a woman who, at my age, had a secret hidden stash of Snickers Bars in the house that her boyfriend didn't know about.)

You are a Theory Slut. The true elite of the
postmodernists, you collect avant-garde
Indonesian hiphop compilations and eat journal
articles for breakfast. You positively live
for theory. It really doesn't matter what
kind, as long as the words are big and the
paragraph breaks few and far between.


What kind of postmodernist are you!?
brought to you by Quizilla

Via Lauren at Feministe.

On Muslim Feminism.

Hey. If Christians were able to stop killing each other over what brand of Christianity they choose, there is hope that Muslims will stop oppressing women, if women—and the civilized world—so insist.

And it's worth noting that in some strains of Judaism women are also required to cover their heads. I've even heard that this was required in Roman Catholic churches a few generations ago.

The problem isn't head coverings per se, or even gender segregation: it's contempt for female intellect/leadership, and equation of women with sexuality.

More on Alito

Joyner calls him "a homerun pick."

Althouse Says the Nickname Doesn't Fit.

So we should acquit. I mean, confirm him.

The abortion case will surely get the most attention, but issues about religion and the Constitution should come to the fore as well. Alito will, if confirmed, replace Sandra Day O'Connor, and her swing-vote role was especially influential in the cases about the religion clauses. From the little I'm seeing here about Alito, he has a marked sympathy to pleas for accommodation from members of minority religions -- a tendency that alone should shake off the nickname Scalito.

She cites a few good cases to back up her claim, and remarks that Alito is a stronger candidate than Roberts was.

Scalito

I would prefer a Thomito, but this will do.

Via Insty, who points out that people will be arguing a lot about Alito's support of spousal notification in case of abortion. He emphasizes that the proposal for husband notification had some important exceptions, including a proviso that the notification need not occur if the spouse was not the biological parent of the child. Glenn reminds us that even if the husband is not the biological parent of the child, he is still on the hook for child support if the mother gives birth.

He's correct: we live in a society that—recognizing that historically the burden of childbearing and childraising has fallen disproportionately on women—has overcompensated, making children "her choice, but our responsibility."

Do I think a man should have veto power over a woman's choice with respect to abortion? No. Not particularly. But I do think that if two people can document that they had a deal regarding their desire to remain childless—and a paper trail to show they used birth control—they should be able to make these decisions independently of each other. Men should be able to make arrangements wherein they are not liable for child support, provided women are also protected.

Because the way we do things now, the woman makes the decision, and the man pays. In many instances, a man can be named as a biological father when he is not—and he can still be required to pay for a child that isn't his, even when there's no marriage to make him the "presumptive father."

Nature's system is unfair to women. But the way society operates now is unfair to men. There ought to be a middle ground.

UPDATE: Goldstein has a roundup of lefty reactions. Looks like the right people are upset.

Over at Chicago Boyz

. . . David Foster opens a discussion of the recent dystopian Peggy Noonan column. I've seen the piece before, but I just figured it was raining in NYC and she had the winter blues or something. But the comments are really thoughtful, and have to do with

• the nature of our "elites";

• how living in a city affects our perceptions;

• how many decades it has felt, in this country, like "the end of it all," and whether baby boomers are more inclined than most generations to feel that way.

Head on over there.

I Had a Fight with My Mother

. . . yesterday, more or less in front of my cousin and his wife. The good news?

1) I talked myself into staying over at her place one more night, so I could continue to enjoy my cousins' company. I'm not so sure I stopped being mad, but I stopped acting mad. I even managed not to say, "no act of mine this weekend should be construed as meaning I don't hate you." This required me to remind myself, over and over again, that I'm 43 years old.

2) Neither one of us got mean in the heat of argument, though we're both more than capable of it.

3) I continued to help her move into the area near the L.A. Airport.

4) I acknowledge that I have all kinds of base emotions WRT others, and they will continue to trip me up. I can even—sometimes—consent to be kidded about my failings. For me, this is astonishing progress.

Live and learn. Excelsior.

This Looks Very Interesting.

Chief Wiggles' book is out.

BTW, anyone who wants to buy a murder mystery/novel of self-discovery by an obnoxious blogger should let me know. I know someone who's writing one.

Plamegate, the Libby Indictment

There's an interesting discussion going on here.

As far as I'm concerned, everyone needs to learn the "Martha Stewart/Bill Clinton Lesson": Don't fucking lie when there's any kind of Federal-level investigation. No matter fucking what.

Have we forgotten "it's not the crime, it's the cover-up"?

Hitch, like many, thinks it's much ado about nothing, and points out that the law basically says no one can talk about anything involving the CIA if the Agency decides he/she ought not to have. If the law does work retroactively, it needs to be changed.

But I can't endorse lying in a deposition, no matter who does it. Didn't the Clinton impeachment rest on exactly this problem? Anyone? Bueller?

I Only Read Movie Reviews

after I see the films in question. I like to go in as "blind" as the trailers will let me (which isn't very blind, but that's really a whole different subject).

Then I go to Pajiba and Libertas, and see what they have to say.

The Blog Family Tree

. . . has been updated! The Commissar reminds us that we shouldn't take the "left/right/other" column heads too seriously.

And all three of my "children" are left-leaning. I long for one right-wing blogchild, much as I pine to adopt a redhead in real life. We'll see what happens.

My Cousin Attila,

over on the East Coast, has become the go-to guy for naked swimming. I understand he's also an expert—oddly enough—on nude swimming.

That might, in fact, make him a good person to talk to about naturism, or nudism in general.

So now you know.

Dr. Sowell

. . . points out that many educators perceive bright students to be a sort of "problem" that must somehow be gotten around.

Well, shit. I know I was.

Scott Wants to Know

. . . what you remember from the sensuous seventies.

Congratulations

To John P., Mary, Timothy Sr., Jim, Mare and the whole clan.

Just a little shout-out to my relatives in a certain region of the upper Midwest. I have the impression that you waited for this for . . . well, weeks.

Fake, But Accurate

Some people didn't realize that our Secretary of State is the spawn of the devil. Fortunately, USA Today found an artistic way to point that out. And now Michelle Malkin is jumping their case for trying to let the truth be known.

So far, Dan Rather hasn't been available for comment, but I figure he's pretty much vindicated now.

Liberty Film Festival, 6

Govindini Murty has a nice little summary of how successful this year's Liberty Film Festival was. There are also a few nice details about the lame attempts of left-wingers to protest the event.

And, of course, she points out that there's irony to spare when David Horowitz gets up to talk about the need for diverse viewpoints in academia and is shouted down by people who yell that he has "no right to speak." This is what it means to be a "tolerant" progressive these days.

One of my proudest achievements this year—along with getting to talk to Larry Elder—was learning how to pronounce Govindini's and Jason's names properly. For Govindini's first name, you take the word "divinity," and merely replace the first syllable with "go." The trick is to place the greatest accent on the second syllable (like everyone else, I kept trying to pronounce it as if it were an Italian name; silly). And in Jason's last name, Apuzzo, the "u" is an "uh" rather than an "ooh" sound.

Seriously, this was a very successful event, with all of those "first time glitches" ironed out since the premier festival. One of the best things about it was that the panels—most notably, the discussion on Hollywood's blacklist in the 1950s—contained a broad spectrum of political opinion, including mainstream liberal and far left. Though the impetus behind this enterprise was the bald fact that a lot of libertarian and conservative ideas are shut out of the "respectable" entertainment industry, the conduct of the organizers was to keep their intellectual integrity by getting as many voices as possible represented when it's time to debate.

I'll have more write-ups of the films and discussions throughout the week, but Murty and Apuzzo truly hit it out of the park.

Boston Legal

I've watched several episodes of Boston Legal recently, and found it to be funny, surreal and sexy. Tonight, suddenly, every single story line got serious. The jokes were muted, and there appeared to be an attempt to transfer the show from the parallel universe it occupied back to the shabby world I live in.

And, naturally, it's getting more flagrantly political in a rather unattractive fashion.

So were the past 4-5 episodes the anomaly, or was tonight? Has the show been a drama in the past, or the oddball comedy I thought I was watching?

On National Self-Hatred

Photon Courier:

Many "progressives"--and not just the religious ones--have uncritically and without reflection adopted the ideas and values of "their own age and class"--and, while doing so, they have congratulated themselves on their courage and independence of thought. Thus, they can enjoy a great feeling of righteousness without running the risk of condemnation by those whose opinions really matter to them. Who cares if the Bush Administration and its supporters would disapprove of your statements (if they ever heard of them, which they likely won't), when there are so many nods of agreement in the faculty lounge or among the other associates at the law firm? Those are the people you see every day, after all, and the ones who really matter for your career...

He left out, of course, "the cocktail party, the wrap party, the pitch, the gathering of writers, and the editorial staff meeting." That is, entertainment and publishing are as bad as academia.

It's a nice little piece, and picks up on a theme that C.S. Lewis wrote about in the 1940s.

Next Time, Ask Us, Mr. President

Daniel Solove:

There do not seem to be many sure votes in the Senate for Miers, and it is becoming difficult for Senators to support Miers without believing that they’ll take a big political hit. In essence, a set of virtual confirmation hearings are being held in cyberspace, and the fate of the nomination may well be decided before the actual hearings in the Senate even begin.

His conclusion: we may not have quite as much influence as we'd like, but we are driving debate. The glass is half full.

(h/t: Insty.)

A Spooky Edition of the Cotillion Ball!

Why, yes: we are all witches. When did you first suspect this?

A special thanks to Girl on the Right for acting as hostess this week. It's a nice roundup.

I Think Hitch

is coming down on the "anti" side in the Miers wars. I think.

One of My Favorites

from Iowahawk.

QT Monster and Able Danger

She has some terrific commentary in the form of transcripts from the Rush Limbaugh show that include pieces of Weldon's speech. This story is just going to keep getting bigger as time goes by.

Oh, Rosa.

We love you.

Rest in peace.

Any Questions for Harriet the Spry?

Send 'em over to the Big Lizards, who are compiling a list therof.

No Mudblood, I

The Commissar is documenting the famly tree of the 'sphere; he'd like us to list our birth months/years, blogdaddies/mommies, and blogkids.

The first version of Little Miss Attila (on Blogsplat) began in March of 1993 2003.

My blogdaddy is James Joyner of Outside the Beltway.

My two confirmed blogchildren are Little Mr. Mahatma and K's Quest.

There are also rumors that I had something to do with Christophe and with Hip Nerd, but no one's ever been able to prove it.

Furthermore, I believe I was one of the people who urged the founder of Q&O to begin a blog, but I probably wasn't the main inspiration there. If memory serves, that was Frank J of IMAO.

UPDATE: Jon Henke confirms that I was an early influence, and names (current Q&O co-blogger) Dale Franks as his actual blogfather. He says he's comfortable with my being a kindly blog-aunt. (Which is lovely—what does he get? Five times my traffic?)

I'm Glad Someone Else

. . . made the joke.

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

Fatass the Conquerer likes AC/DC.

Which is a sterling recommendation, in my book.

(Sure; they're very stylized. Their songs sound similar. But if you like that sound, it's no problem.)

Goldstein

. . . has a few tart words about the U.N.'s latest coverup.

[cross-posted at Dean's World.]

The Most Courageous Blogger I Know

. . . is taking on the DIA over the Able Danger story.

Tammy Bruce

It's been pointed out to me that in my mention of her several entries down, I gave a non-optimal link (it was a NewsMax site that promotes her columns). As a blogger, I should have linked to her blog. And so I shall.

Roger L. Simon Rawks! (Liberty Film Festival, 5)

I didn't pin Roger Simon down when I saw him on a panel at the last UCLA/LA Times "Festival of Books" six months ago. But I did today, at the film festival. He does not, as you might imagine, walk around in a fedora. In real life, it's a baseball cap.

RLS: [eye contact]

LMA: I'm just a stalker. Actually, I have a blog, and I'm a big admirer [hands over a "Little Miss Attila" business card]. I'm also working on a mystery, of all things.

RLS: I think I've heard of your blog.

LMA: Now that's flattering. Can you answer a few questions about Pajamas Media?

RLS: Okay, but we'll have to make it quick. [Nods to another would-be interviewer, who clearly outranks me because he got to Simon first, and because he has more technological do-dads with him.]

LMA: A lot of people are excited at the idea that Pajamas Media might actually bring money into the blogging community. What foundation does your business model rest on?

RLS: Two Things. First of all, of course, we're going to sell advertising. Secondly, we'll have affilitates like the BBC does—though we might not be quite at their level just yet.

Right now, we're really looking for affiliates, especially overseas. We intend to cover the world with our affiliates.

LMA: [leaning forward, whispering into his ear] What's the new name going to be for Pajamas Media? You can tell me.

RLS: No, I can't. I really can't. But it won't be a fun name like Pajamas Media. It'll be a boring name—like "the BBC."

Larry and Me (Liberty Film Festival, 4)

Larry Elder spoke today at the Liberty Film Festival, and afterward I decided I was going to pin him down for another of my signature "mini-interviews." He had just agreed to let me walk him to his car when he got shanghaid into signing a bunch of his DVDs. As one might expect, that kept him there long enough for more and more people to arrive—most of whom needed to at least shake his hand, and maybe get a picture (and possibly have a small exchange with him regarding politics, race, economics, or affirmative action).

After a few hours my resolved calcified: as long as he'd agreed in principle to my getting a few minutes with him, I was going to wait until he was away from the madding crowds, and could focus on what we were saying.

I'll summarize our discussion in another post, but he is an amazing man. No matter how many hands he had to shake, he never seemed to get tired of his fans, supporters, and colleagues. His ethical system is clearly as demanding as his work life: I'd never seen that level of focus in someone surrounded by an ever-changing crowd of 5-10 fans who all clearly want to talk to him as well. When Larry turned to me I indicated that he'd promised I could walk him out, and that was what I intended to do. He appeared to respect that. Meanwhile, I reminded myself that people call in to his show all the time and wait for hours to speak with him in the least private of settings. I was waiting a bit, but would get a one-on-one chat with him. A bargain, if you want to know the truth.

And sure enough: a friend of his who works for the L.A. Times ran into us as we approached the back doors of the Beverly Center, and they had a very cute exchange regarding their differences of opinion. (Larry pointed to me and threatened, after the other man had made a tacit admission of media bias, that I was going to expose this shameful moment in my blog. We all had a good laugh, though I'm afraid my readers might not be any more impressed with that than they would be with "a Times writer admitted that it gets hot in the summer in L.A.")

But Larry really is the all-time gentleman: he listened to my questions, gave me thoughtful answers, and stood there by his black Thunderbird asking me what I thought about various issues, as if he had all the time in the world. (At first, my mouth dropped open, and I may have looked like a fish for a moment there, till I rallied and remembered that I definitely Have Opinions.)

Truly a great experience. I've met Larry before, but not since 1998 or so, and we'd never had this long a chat. And, you know: I love being treated like a Real Media person, when in fact I'm just bloggy little me: a girl with a keyboard.

Well, If You Insist

I oppose the Miers nomination, Mr. Bear.

Goodness knows I'd like to be wrong. If she doesn't withdraw her nomination, I hope to be proven wrong. But I cannot support the nomination of someone to the highest court in the land who isn't a constitutional scholar.

That piece of paper is the most important thing we have, and if it isn't worth fighting for, then—as we used to say in 2001-2-3—the terrorists will have won.

Via Protein Wisdom, where the "Ginsburg Rule" still means something, thank goodness. (Jeff is right: there are plenty of ways for Miers to prove herself without breaking that precedent, and tying future Justices up in legal knots.)

Kate Has Her Own Style

of catblogging.

It's not for the weak.

Liberty Film Festival, 3

The second segment of the evening focused on Ron Silver's incredible Broken Promises: The United Nations at 60. (For more info on the film, check out the Citizens United site.) It was a hard movie to watch, as it tells story after story of genocides the U.N. failed to prevent (probably because it was too busy Jew-baiting).

And then the lovely Tammy Bruce spoke to us, suggesting that she felt "reforming" the U.N. might be like trying to "reform" Nazi Germany.

And, of course, when Maloney and On the Fence were there for the first segment, they didn't simply showcase excerpts from the upcoming (and hilarious) feature-length Indoctrinate U, but also presented their indictment of Canada's "single payer" health care system in Dead Meat.

Liberty Film Festival, 2

Friday night really had three stars: Even Coyne Maloney, the genius behind Brain Terminal and On the Fence Films; David Horowitz, the force of nature who started Front Page Magazine and the Study for Popular Culture; and Horowitz's hecklers, who stormed the stage the moment he began speaking, and had to be forcibly removed from the stage—and then the room.

Where, BTW, did Jason Apuzzo learn to tackle like that? These hecklers—one man and one woman—were enormous, like two big slabs of left-wing beef. And Horowitz is a small man; I'm glad Apuzzo and a few other volunteers from the audience (law enforcement? barflies?) kept them from getting near Horowitz as they continued to shout "you have no right to speak!"

I guess they aren't too happy with Horowitz' stance on the Bill of Academic Rights. Once we all knew these left-droids were being taken care of, most of us simply started laughing at them. Maloney started changing "Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey, goodbye" as the hecklers were "escorted" (forced, kicking and screaming) out of the room.

Horowitz just smiled. Clearly, he's used to this sort of thing. I felt that the Liberty Film Festival had just been validated in a big way (remember: these super-sized kids bought tickets for the event, just to position themselves where they could charge the stage and yell out a few silly phrases).

Time for My Favorite Annual Sleep-Deprivation Exercise,

the incredible Liberty Film Festival. As with last year, Attila the Hub and I got all-event passes. If possible, this year is loaded with even more good stuff. We started with a cute spoof of Fahrenheit 9/11 by Rick Nyholm entitled Fellowship 9/11. Needless to say, it takes a few gentle jabs at the Lord of the Rings movies—while savaging Moore. What's not to like?

Writer's Group Last Night.

They liked my ookey melodramatic backstory, and they think it should go back into the book.

Though I'll have to re-write it in the first person to match the rest of the material. Or, I can re-cast the other parts in third, though semi-hard-boiled American mysteries are usually in first.

I Had a Nightmare

That I was carrying a frightened child around in a dystopian environment, surrounded by violence and violent expressions of sexuality. I had to protect myself and the child at the same time.

But in the dream I had money. What does that mean?—that I'm more afraid of societal decay than I am of being broke?

Or that I'm still shitting gold bricks at the prospect of parenthood?

Note to self: What to Expect the First Year is not appropriate bedtime reading.

Dean Has an Amazing Post

up right now about politics, economics, fractals, and human physiology.

UPDATE: I mean, Dave Price (Tall Dave) does.

Go. Now.

Now That We're Officially Approved

for adoption, Attila the Hub wants me to look into getting a crib or bassinette and a basic layette, since placement can take anywhere from . . . ten minutes to ten years.

(What we're being told is a year or two, but our profile is pretty desirable. And sometimes kids fall into the agency's lap rather suddenly, so my husband's correct: we should be prepared.)

If you hear about an unplanned pregnancy in your community, let me know. And if you hear about any good deals on cribs in Southern California, I'd love to hear about that as well.

Terrified right now. Just so you know.

More Gun Porn

And this one's a honey!

Via My Vast Right Wing Conspiracy.

Question: Is This Offensive?

For those who can tolerate a little porn, check out this post. Then read Bullwinkle's comment below it.

Are the pictures offensive? Is the remark?

In a heterosexual context, how does your relationship with the opposite sex inform your opinion?

Time to Vote Again!

We're down to four finalists in the "dishy conservative guys" competition. Naturally, I didn't vote because I don't approve of this sort of thing. Still, I'm hoping Beth posts more pix.

'Cause how can it hurt?

Which Is More Important

. . . to a President's legacy?—the selection of a Supreme Court nominee, or how he conducts foreign/military policy in light of a threat from abroad?

It's a serious question. Not a rhetorical one.

Please discuss.

Glenn Reynolds,

on the success of the Iraqi election Saturday: "I can remember when Afghanistan was a quagmire."

Indeed.

Stop the War on Drugs.

Right. Fucking. Now.

Cool.

A smart-ass guy in med school blogs his experiences.

Via Ilyka, who's off getting her cyber-gender reassignment surgery at present.

JibJab Takes on Wal-Mart and Costco

Big Box Mart is the first short JibJab has made that doesn't strike out at both sides of a given issue. It's a provocative little piece about trade, and how our addiction to cheap goods affects the American economy. It's protectionist, sure; however, the butt of the joke is called "Big Box Mart," which implies not just the reflexive lefty hatred of Wal-Mart, but also criticism of the "bix box" stores such as Costco (where my "enlightened" friends go to save money).

You Can Blow Out a Candle . . .

but you can't blow out a fire.

[/Peter Gabriel]

If They Really Wanted to Have Fun

. . . they'd pick someone of Indian extraction. Or a black man.

As a little girl I was mystified by the appeal of Sean Connery: he looked to me like Richard Nixon, with that prominent nose. I just didn't get it.

Years later, I understood that it was the accent, and the way he carries himself.

But when I was seven years old, I had trouble seeing how he could be considered good-looking.

Ah, Iraq.

Via con Dios.

[Feel free to correct my Spanish, but I think the sentiment is clear.]

I'm Up, Maybe for the Night

According to my insomnia book, aspirin may be a sleeping aid. Although it doesn't help with the onset of sleep, it assists with "maintenance." I'll give it a shot tomorrow night, and perhaps I won't wake up after three hours.

I need to leave in a few hours for the West Side, where I'm going to be attending a few service meetings for my church group. Fortunately, they have coffee there, and fruit/bagels.

I liked being a calm, seemingly happy person with minimal dark rings under my eyes. Now I get to be ugly and bitchy again. Oh, bother. Still, as problems go, these aren't what I'd call Big.

When Writers Argue

"I was not being sarcastic; I was merely being a bit ironic. You were being sarcastic, and that isn't nice."

This is the next level, after the "I didn't imply; you inferred" argument.

Hubris has

. . . the cutest kids in the world.

Except for my nephews, of course—and in that case my perception is doubtless related to my biologically determined role as the Warrior Aunt who will need to destroy anyone who gets in their way. Woe be unto the first girls who break their hearts, once they become [gasp!] teenagers!

My nephew will be in Midsummer Night's Dream this year, and I'll be checking the audience, monitoring who claps and who does not. I may have to pistol-whip a few folks.

Nice Defense

. . . of Miers, in the form of an infamous takedown of NRO by Beldar.

What a

. . . freakin' sexist.

What is Your Biggest Pet Peeve

regarding abuse of the English language?

I know some of you are engineers, and unlikely to be upset about overuse of "hopefully." But certainly you've come across some copy that refers to statistical changes in populations, and makes little/no sense. ("Incidence of blankety-blank dropped by 150% over two years." "Rates increased by two-thirds, to 120 over the previous 100.")

So . . .

Am I a "RINO"? Mostly I think I might be. But I despise John McCain as much as anyone out there.

Thoughts?

Jeff

. . . has been a very bad boy, and should be sent to bed without his supper.

Misha

has a few words of gentle, fatherly advice for Hugh Hewitt. I wouldn't call it negative criticism, exactly: more like helpful feedback.

I Had No Idea . . .

the world was so full of Jewish cats.

Guns and Beefcake

Vote for the King of the Cotillion!

(In other news, the Red Cross is offering a course in digital photography to the family/friends of conservative male bloggers . . . Hey! Why's everyone mad at me again?)

I Went to the Doctor Today.

I told him the Prozac my OB-GYN had put me on for PMS was making me sleepy in the afternoons, and asked if he could sling me a little Wellbutrin to take in the morning so I can be perky/motivated. In return, I promised to go off sleeping pills soon. Real soon.

His counter-proposal: if I go off the sleeping pills first, then he'll give me the Wellbutrin. He's obviously a granola-crunching hippie Mother Nature's son kind of guy. Though he did give me some Fiorinal with codeine to have on hand against future migraine attacks.

So, you know: the quality of mercy is not strained.

Stuck in the Middle with Miers

I'm still tremendously conflicted about Harriet Miers, though for the most part I'm willing to wait for the confirmation hearings, as so many advise.

Althouse has a nice little piece explaining why her opposition to Miers is "thawing." Definitely worth a read.

Via Protein Wisdom, where Jeff continues to oppose the nomination—and a lot of the name-calling that's ensued since Bush put Miers' name forward. And he's right about that: we should at least be able to discuss this civilly.

My Husband and I

. . . are having a cold war on the issue of whether it was more important to bring a pumpkin pie to a potluck, or to arrive somewhat on-time. No, reallly.

In school they spent years trying to teach me algebra; better they'd taught me how to get along with my fellow human beings.

And who invented this "marriage" stuff? It's entirely beyond me.

Steyn

. . . penned an analysis of European politics that made me want to drink red wine, smoke cigarettes and strongly consider suicide at an outdoor cafe.

I Went to a Gathering Yesterday

. . . of three different writer's groups headed up by my writing teacher. We were all supposed to read aloud some small snippet of our work. I went through all my files, and suddenly realized that every single thing I'd ever written—including all my blog entries, high school essays, and every word of my novel—was crap.

I read something anyway.

What Is It About Life Post-40?

I now have perhaps the fifth migraine headache of my life, and the first one that's really lasted and hurt, rather than being purely visual or disappearing almost immediatly.

My grandmother had these. My mother used to get 'em, but controls the condition with medication.

So I guess the party's over, in case I hadn't figured it out from looking at my skin and hair—or feeling the twinges in my knees and ankles when I stretch at the wrong angle. I like to think I make up for it all in cunning.

Dad Update, 1

For years my father stayed abreast of this weblog by calling me to ask if I was still blogging. Eventually I began to suggest that there were other ways to find out beyond throwing me an interrogative.

Now he tells me that I'm losing my touch. I explain about the computer glitch that limits me to short entries.

He's unimpressed.

Parents constitute the ultimate tough room.

Mom Update, 2

Using Pirate Route A, I made it to Westchester in 55 minutes today. Coming back, I wasn't so lucky, but I think there were a few accidents that delayed freeway traffic and messed things up locally.

However, I'm going to look at the Gold Line. I could catch it in Pasadena, and she could just pick me up wherever it is that it stops. Thoughts?

I don't suppose we get to use the Diamond Lanes here in SoCal if we buy hybrid cars?

Mom Update, 1

Since my grandmother had so many heart attacks (and strokes) over so many years, mom just doesn't see how a teensy heart attack could possibly be a big deal. Very flattering and all, but why are my brother and I calling her so much now? (Gee, Mom. Maybe because the last heart attack Grandma had killed her?)

But I trust her to report the doctors' feedback faithfully, and it appears that all involved (again, except the sibling and I) see it as a non-event. So, onward.

And Suddenly,

it's real.

I drove to Westchester yesterday to check on the house my mother owns there, and see what needs to be done to it before she can move in. She had planned to move in November, but the tenant found another rental unexpectedly quickly, and he's out.

Paint, I told her. And a new back door. And the carpets look iffy.

Anyone know the shortcut to LAX?—that freeway the airport shuttle peopel use? It took me an hour and a half to get home yesterday via the 10/405, and I think I'm gonna need that route.

Those Wacky Insurgents

. . . keep misplacing their copies of Dale Carnegie, huh?

Glenn Floats the Idea

. . . that journalists be held to the same standards as car manufacturers.

The spreading of lies about Hurricane Katrina constitute one more nail in the coffin of the heritage media.

Harriet Miers

CT has a thoughtful mini-roundup, and some bloggers are suggesting that we might want to give the President the benefit of a doubt. (It's certainly a thought: after all, in this instance he doesn't have the national checkbook in his hand.)

The Anchoress is also urging us to keep our powder dry; start here and then scroll her main page.

Photon Courier

has a rather sickening little story about health-care standards in the EU.

If I'm Not Mistaken

. . . Iowahawk's a bit skeptical.

My Mother Called Today.

She found out on Friday that she had a mild heart attack (as in an infarction) a few months ago.

And I mean—mild. She's not seeing the cardiologist until Thursday.

I'm irrationally afraid, and it's manifesting as anger. I want someone to cross me so I can yell at them. I'm a one-woman "fuck you" looking for a target.

Let's talk politics.

Still Taking Suggestions

on how to reconcile my spirituality with my (nominal) Catholicism.

Or at least my half-assed Christianity.

So if you've got any book/website recommendations, lay 'em on me.

Mr. President,

you damn well better know something about this woman that the rest of the world doesn't.

Is this one of your crazy-like-a-fox moments, or another gross capitulation? Some of us are more than a little curious.

Hey!

Anyone in the White House listening?

If We Aborted All Babies Fathered by Guys Who Wear Ribbed Undershirts in Public,

we'd reduce crime.

I guess to say such a thing, however—even as an illustration of where moral bankruptcy leads people—is wrong.

The Latest J.K. Rowling

Pretty nice.

And not just because one of my two (2) theories on who "the half-blood prince" might be turned out to be correct.

This book is shorter than the last one by a few hundred pages, but I still had to break the reading up into two sessions. Naturally, that meant that I had to read a few chapters over as the details faded from memory . . .

CT Scan Went Fine.

Though the lab techs don't see the images: those get sent directly to the doctor. So, naturally, I'm insecure, and presume that I ruined everything by breathing through my nose (to the degree that I can).

At least when I get my boobs squished the nice technician tells me when to hold my breath.