And You Thought It Was Simple,

. . . speaking truthiness to power.

Oh, Dear.

There's been some horrible misunderstanding: some of us are here to goof off, and some of us are here to actually work.

You didn't think I was in the latter category, did you?

Can You Say

"Witch Hunt"? I knew you could.

Hello From the Hotel Six

. . . of Embassy Row.

I'm stoked to be here; thanks for sending me.

I understand that I'm supposed to be providing Early! Breaking! News! from D.C;, but I'm tired from travelling all day.

What if I simply promise to be extra snarky for the next three days?

After all, weblogs are all about transgression!

Overheard, 4

"It's 9:00 p.m., and we're going back to our rooms. This is pathetic."

"It isn't pathetic until we've gone home early three nights in a row."

Hey. I Didn't Suggest That We Cut and Run.

'd'you?

It Wasn't All Legs and Free Drinks.

They were also nice to you. Pictures from the Golden Age of Air Travel—when, as Glenn put it, "flying didn't suck."

The Mine Your Own Business Film

. . . now has its own blog.

Only a Few Strings

. . . such as those imposed by the passion for socialized medicine and the drive to fulfill the not-quite-self-fulfilling prophecy that Iraq will turn into "another Vietnam."

Confidential to Mrs. C: who dressed you for that event?

Via Insty.

More On

. . . the General Motors Swan Song.

Understanding Iran

Over at Protein Wisdom, The Sanity Inspector slams Lisa Margonelli's recent statements on NPR, comparing her perceptions of Iran to those harbored about Soviet Russia by its apologists in the early years of the Cold War.

The analogy that crosses my mind is the obvious one, though: Nazi Germany. Too few people read Mein Kampf, and among those who did, too few regarded it as possible that Hitler actually meant what he said.

I'm all for understanding the complex motives behind human interactions, but here is also something to be said for taking the leaders of nations at their word when they speak of their overarching geopolitical goals.

And I remain skeptical of those who assure me that they know what ordinary Iranians think and feel: I heard too much of that with Iraq, from people who had vested interests in believing that the Iraqi-on-the-street would be offended—offended!—if we dared to depose Saddam.

Not Content to Advocate Genocide,

. . . Steyn suggests we just get ready for summer in the city.

Remember:

Choose your victims carefully.

Via Insty.

Gagdad Bob

On the history of mankind: Part I, and Part II.

The thrust of the second installment is how marriage began as an institution for the protection of women and children, as Bob-my-sparring partner likes to point out.

Discuss amongst yourselves; I'll be engaged in Productive Activity today. Not my favorite thing to do, but it's sometimes necessary.

So. Dead Soldiers.

Evil, stupid, or just misguided and broke?

Swimming Against the Current of Anti-Americanism

Pro-American Brits make a point.

Steve Jobs?

Total stud/god.

Nerds.

The final frontier.

James Taylor

. . . is drawing a line in the sand.

As To the General Run of Kids . . .

In addition to yelling, throwing things, running around shrieking and playing loud, obnoxious video games, it appears they do have other abilities—such as transmitting disease.

Yup: I have a bad sore throat that I appear to have acquired on the cabin trip chateau trip.

It's a Lock.

I'll be covering CPAC this year after all.

Thanks for the money, and please keep sending it.

Thanks also to the folks at CRC Public Relations, who will be feeding the bloggers lunch. That will be nice: last year I ate about one real meal a day, and lived on protein bars the rest of the time. It would have been okay, but D.C. doesn't seem to have a lot of fruit stands—so it was rather an odd diet.

Fortunately, I ate very well when I landed at my friends' place in Baltimore, and they saved my pudgy middle-aged midsection.

That is the nicest part of the trip, I must admit: seeing my friends, and their well-behaved kids—one boy, one girl. (Both fun to talk to, and neither one predisposed to yell. They are curmudgeon-proof children, and they let me borrow their books: I adore re-reading kids' books when I'm recovering from a stressful event like CPAC.)

Can We Reduce Global Warming by Eating Less Meat?

Maybe. And maybe not.

What Options Can We Consider?

Glenn Reynolds on discussion of political assassination among Democrats:

Now, apparently, it's shifted to "beyond the pale" category. It's not only important to have the right opinions -- it's important to have them at the right time.

That's always been the case. After all, hyper-religiousity was okay when Jimmy Carter occupied the White House. And when Reagan was there, fluency in English was just another sign of stupidity; now it's essential to proving any intelligence.

It's all about timing.

UPDATE: Link fixed. I think.

Jim Webb on the Legacy of Vietnam

I just got around to following the Insty linked from his entry referenced below. The Southeast Asian holocaust is something none of my lefty friends has made any attempt to deal with, to my knowledge.

When I think about how I was raised, listening to the Hair soundtrack as my parents and their friends abandoned the South Vietnamese to torture and genocide, I just want to howl in shame and rage.

And it may be about to happen again, in the Middle East. Violence, torture, suffering. The stifling of dissent. Mass murder.

But it's okay, right? "Peace is Patriotic."

Debt-Blogging.

What an awesome idea.

Support, man. It can make a huge difference in human development. And an environment such as the blogosphere wherein one can acknowledge one's shortcomings? That's, um, priceless.

On Mark Styen, Racism, and Iraq vs. Vietnam

Glenn Reynolds:

Back in the Vietnam days we heard a lot of accusations of genocide hurled at war supporters -- but it was when the war opponents got their wish that the mass murder began, and they were very quiet (or, in some cases, actually defensive of the Khmer Rouge) once it happened.

Read the whole thing.

How people can read America Alone, BTW, as advocating genocide is beyond me. There were moments when I felt Steyn overstated his case, but he isn't a racist: he's deeply concerned about the very real threat of Islamofascism, and how demographic trends will exacerbate that threat in coming years.

Of course, Steyn is defending himself ably, remarking that

I appreciate Andrew Sullivan’s need to make a living and I regret that, alas, there don’t seem to be as many takers for his “conservatism of doubt” as his publishers evidently thought. But if he really feels the need to embroil me in a piffling pseudo-scandal I’d appreciate it if next time he could just finger me as the father of Anna Nicole’s baby and leave it at that.

Home Again.

And I work tomorrow, so at some point I need to do laundry and unpack.

But first, I'll take a small vacation to recover from the vacation.

An essay by Ayn Rand, a small nap, and I'll be right as rain.

It's Not That I Don't Like Kids.

It's just that they are noisy, self-indulgent, lazy creatures who appear to think of nothing other than computer games and watching videos.

Of course, being in a cabin with with five children, four computers and three large-screen televisions is going to lead to media overload.

I'm a curmudgeon: I put a piece of paper on my laptop proclaiming it's "Joy's computer--do not use."

Hitch

. . . on Hill's unique little dilemma.

But, for crying out loud: can someone tell me what "rat" means in British slang?

Via Classical Values.

I Survived.

Please note that although roast beef takes around the same amount of time to cook at 6000 feet as it does at 2000 feet, quiches take twice as long.

Fortunately, there was plenty of salad, and almost enough roast beef to go around while we waited.

And when the quiches did show up, they were much appreciated.

But two different quiche recipes is a bit much; I need to figure out what the best approach is, and make double of that—then I'll just add the extras at the last minute: bacon for the quiche lorraine, and onion for the vegetarian one.

Mark Steyn

Sez:

In the capital city of the most powerful nation on the planet, the political class spent last week trying to craft a bipartisan defeat strategy, and they might yet pull it off.

Via Insty, who concurs with Steyn that "to everyone else on the planet, it's America's war. And it will be America's defeat."

Are Things Really Different?

I had a huge tantrum the first time I was left at my Mexican baby-sitter's place. I was three years old.

I got used to being there, and learned to love my new environment. But whenever something is slightly unsatisfactory, I like to make that fact known as far and wide as I can.

These people—the ones I'm hanging out with now in the woods—took me in when I didn't have any family to speak of. I am much too casual about this fact. This may be due to having a strong personality. It could also be related to being an asshole, but I don't really want to think about that right now.

Fuck. First my nephews, then my cousins. And now my high-school crowd. Am I done now? Do I have enough family relations taken care of?

I shall go home and live in a cave. And the only person allowed in that cave will be my husband, and him only when it's the right time of month.

But I haven't snapped, or freaked out, or at any point been anything less than a lady.

That part certainly marks a departure from when I was twenty. And from when I was three.

Wish me luck, boys and girls: tomorrow evening, I cook dinner for fourteen. I'll be accepting Weed-O-Grams, if you can arrange 'em.

A Family Affair.

It was a good day, today, overall. The dudes did what they could, and the chicks took turns being co-dependent and taking responsibility for the outcomes of Things They Couldn't Possibly Affect.

When Monday morning comes round again I will have enjoyed about as much of this as I can stand.

The fact that these trips used to last for a whole week makes me want to enter a time machine and give myself (at 17, at 23, at 28) a good talking-to.

Hello From Pine Mountain.

I'm in the mountains north of Los Angeles, where I'm spending the three-day weekend with friends I've known since high school. We used to do this once or twice a year—get away from the city for a weekend, or several days, or a whole week.

We kept doing it when we were in college, and then when we started working. The modality continued to evolve, but we never stayed away from it for more than a few years.

I'm mostly here, of course, to see Little Blonde Bitch, M.D. and her family, since it's been a good long time since I've even laid eyes on them.

But I'm here with three other "single" people (folks whose spouses or sig others are too smart to want to come along), and two complete families, including a total of five children. (It would have been seven, except that my roommate from fifteen years ago had a family mishap and couldn't make it.)

This is completely insane: in four or six hours, the noise level may well be intolerable.

The difference from my youth? I'm not crashed on a couch, or sharing a bedroom with two other couples. I'm tucked safely away in a bedroom, behind a door that I will desperately need tomorrow morning.

I Hated Myself.

But I still laughed my head off.

American Pit Bulls!

Just the best. I wonder where one gets them on the West Coast.

[Confidential to A the H: I'm asking for a friend.]

The "Gore Effect" . . .

writ large.

Finest Oxygen Thieves of All Time!

Send your nominations in now.

After a Long Day of Proofreading Yesterday,

I came home and suggested to Attila the Hub that if he's really tired of television he could go to massage school, and that would be a nice new career direction for him.

He didn't even answer me; he just gave me The Look.

And Speaking of Appliances . . .

our toaster is dying. Sometime in the next month, I'll have to go out and buy one. Basically I want a Williams-Sonoma model for Wal-Mart money. As usual.

Thoughts?

My mother found a cool Oster with the features I like, so I might try to get a four-slot version of hers.

And don't be saying, "you killed it with those nonstop toaster waffles." We already know that. We're contrite, and stuff. Well, we aren't really contrite, but we're willing to play it on TV.

Blender Blogging

. . . from a guy who should know about that subject.

What's the Opposite of a Godbag?

A godless bag, of course.

Actually, deep down I feel sorry for Amanda Marcotte—in the same way I felt sorry for Monica Lewinsky in the 1990s, and Washingtonienne two years ago or whenever: when I was young and did stupid things only a handful of people knew about them.

Now it seems that whenever a young woman behaves like an idiot, everyone knows about it. Forever.

And of course I relate to young Marcotte: the shrill feminism, the all-yang-no-yin personality. The hyper-emotionalism, and its corrosive effect on her writing.

I was like that. Still am, in a lot of ways. But to the degree that I've grown up at all, I'm glad I was able to do it out of the public spotlight.

"Ripley, you're just grinding metal. Ease down. Come on; ease down."

Five Things to Keep in Mind

. . . as we try to reform health care.

The thing I dig about this Arnold Kling analysis is that it points out the flaws in current proposals from both the right and the left. So, go.

H/t: Insty.

Melissa Sez . . .

Over at Protein Wisdom:

No one in America thinks that the Scooter Libby trial is about pre-war intelligence.

. . . . which way is it MSM? Are you a bunch of easily led, narrative-driven, incurious, lazy, stupid sheep working as mouthpieces for the administration or some other government leader outside or in? Or, are you smarter than everyone, incisive, knowledgeable, hard-charging, can’t be bought, objective, fair and balanced, and possess unimpeachable character? It’s pretty hard to be both, don’t you think?

Whichever it is, it's Bush's fault. Or maybe Cheney's, now that I think of it.

The Last Word on Amanda.

Hey! What has that Iowahawk guy got against foul-mouthed chicks, anyway?

Patriarchal fucker.

I Got Your Intact Hymen

. . . right here.

Via Insty.

Getting Paid For It

I want to send a short story in to an electronic magazine, but I'm not sure I want to let it go yet. I'm not sure it's "finished."

And, of course, I'm afraid I'll fall afoul of the rules against selling babies or body organs or freshly killed game or one's writing or one's body.

I do not want to do the wrong thing, you know.

I'm Still Here.

But I have a slight case of client-itis: the office gig and the magazine are each taking up a fair amount of my time.

The volunteer commitments are also, um, blossoming. I keep meaning to cut down, but then something looks like it's about to fall, and I can't help but reach out to save it—bless my co-dependent little heart.

Furthermore, I have to work ahead, in case I am able to make it to CPAC at the end of the month: next week I'm working plenty on the paying gigs (again: this is a good thing), as well as getting the monthly newsletter for Ye Olde Nonprofit taken care of.

In summary, thanks for all the money; keep it coming. And blogging will be light for the next two weeks.

But it's looking good for the trip: I made a tentative hotel reservation. I'll be waiting until the last minute to buy my plane ticket, naturally. (Flying redeye: that's one advantage to being a night owl.)

You guys are the bestest readers ever.

Okay. If You Don't Want to Help Get Me to the East Coast,

. . . for crying out loud, go help Feisty get those squirrels out of her attic.

The girl is living on an even shorter shoestring than I am, so go go go.

Astronaut Diapers.

I'm sorry. I just can't stop thinking about those diapers.

One assumes that they are better than the diapers mere civilians use on their kids. But how much better?--will they really keep pee-pee and poo-poo off one's auto upholstery?

Should civilian toddlers have them? How about civilian seniors, who are stuck using Depends? How about truck drivers? Is this an example of aerospace elitism?

And from a long-distance driving perspective, isn't they useless unless one either has a double gas tank, or a hybrid vehicle? One has to gas up anyway, so why not take an extra two minutes and pee?

Personally, I think one should stop every few hours anyway, even on the relatively short trips I make: 375 miles to the Bay Area, circa 400 to Phoenix, Arizona. I can make it to either location in 5.5 hours as long as I only make a single stop, and treat the speed limits as "living documents."

Fact: my cantankerous grandfather lived in Whittier, but had a cabin in Idyllwild, a few hours away (this was in the 1960s-1970s, before every thoroughfare in SoCal was jammed 24/7, and a virtual parking lot on Friday evenings). One wouldn't think that a drive of a few hours would be so difficult, especially for a man, but he actually drilled a hole in the bottom of his jeep, and attached a hose to it. With a funnel at the end.

Not that I come from a family of sick fucks, or anything like that.

Perhaps There Are Still Some Repubiclans Out There

. . . who want to win. In the case of McCain, of course, they are barking up the wrong tree. But Rudy could carry this thing: he really could.

Just Repeat After Me . . .

"there's no such thing as bad publicity."

And, of course, no place like home.

Well, It's Hanging by a Thread.

I'm credentialed for CPAC, but my ability to go is hanging by a thread, especially since there are a few health-care issues I have to finish off this winter—as my husband just reminded me.

Here's arbitrary for you: my ability to go may rest entirely on whether my major client pays his existing invoice on time, which he almost never does.

Not coincidentally, this would be a great time to hit my PayPal button: even picking up the cost of a meal—or a single night's stay at the hotel—would help enormously. (I have a hotel picked out that is pretty cheap, but in a safe neighborhood.)

Help a sister out, okay? No contribution too small. None too large, either ;)

You Know What Really Turns Men On?

When you waste their other lady friends.

Jealousy in general turns ordinary Plain Janes into man-magnets: there's something about being treated like a Pop-Tart that someone might steal right out of your toaster that no man can resist. Word.

I'm Sorry, Mr. Edwards.

Some people say that you should fire Marcotte immediately, but I like her. I think you should hold on to her: she's very popular in the blogosphere, especially among women-identified-women.

Totally a keeper.

Also, please hang onto those two mansions, no matter what the unenlightened might say about them: I think they make your hair look terrific.

[H/t: Insty.]

Good Going, Breck Boy.

What does Edwards do to show he's hip?—he hires Marcotte to run his blog. This is the woman who was once able to perceive potential hidden sexism in the shape of a laundry basket, and then explain that any criticism of feminism based upon such fixation upon details was . . . sexist.

I'd write more, but I'm going back to bed. I regard being up before noon as an artificial need, born of the patriarchal construct that it's good to be awake when the sun shines. If you think about it, circadianism is simply sexism writ large, and the discrimination against night owls mirrors that against women, midgets, and People of Color.

Rudy Giuliani's

. . . conservative credentials.

Rumor has it that he'll be announcing soon. I hope so.

Goodbye, G.O.P.

It's been, you know. Nice.

There Is a Project Brewing.

Attila the Hub may be doing a show for a well-known actor/cult figure with whom I feel his sensibilities would be a great fit. I mean, this person has a bent sense of humor, and it would not just be lucrative, but also fulfilling and fun for A the H.

Or perhaps I meant it the other way around?—not just fun, but also lucrative.

Anyway, send Good Vibes: it's been a hell of a dry spell around here, for both of us.

That Clinches It.

The United Nations says humans are responsible for global warming!*

If so, I hope we hurry before my local Ross outlet runs out of cheap wool socks: do you have any idea what it's like to run around on size fives during a SoCal cold snap?

* Standard disclaimer: I am aware that some of the U.N. humanitarian missions are stunningly successful, just as I support a lot of the work done by some of our left-leaning NGOs in, for example, Southeast Asia. But when I look at the oil-for-food scandal, child prostitution in Africa, and the way Kofi and others have been vigorously and fraudulently lining their own pockets, it's hard to see the United Nations in the same light it appeared in when I was a kid.