F**k Matt Drudge.

No, really. I just don't see the point in running the story about Prince Harry being in Afghanistan, and making him cut his tour short.

Yeah. Sign me on to the Drop Drudge movement. Not that I was reading him anyway, but now I won't.

Laughing Wolf of Blackfive doesn't resort to my beloved Anglo-Saxon language, but says the same thing:

A raised finger salute to the people who leaked it to Drudge, and to Matt Drudge for willfully endangering the Prince and those with him. May you and those who leaked it to you soon find yourself in an enclosed space with SAS and others who care to express their opinion in a very, very personal manner.

Oh, I'm sure there are some Americans who would gladly participate in taking these assholes down a notch or two. It's beyond belief that someone would put any servicemember's life in danger for the sake of a petty "scoop" like that.

UPDATE: In a weak moment, I realized this entry might end up being linked by a family-friendly site or two, so I removed the Anglo-Saxon attitude from the headline. I do, however, think my meaning is clear enough . . . and I can always use extra vulgarities next week to make up for it.

Smells Like Team Spirit . . .

or something like that.

Women's Voices/Women's Vote is taking nominations for female bloggers. Please nominate your favorite chick bloggers, and then vote for 'em later on.

As usual, I'd recommend the entire Cotillion, along with such other high-estrogen powerhouses as Michelle Malkin, Kate McMillan, RightGirl, and ZendoDeb.

Lunch with an Editor

. . . from my gun-magazine days.

"Too bad you missed the SHOT Show," he remarks. "Again."

"It happened simultaneously with CPAC," I tell him. "There was no way. Next year we can hope that they'll be disjoint." [Note: they will be. The SHOT Show will be on January 15-18 in Orlando, FL; CPAC will be February 26-28.]

We catch up on what various gun writers are doing, and we talk about the Presidential horse race, along with the future of the various media we keep tabs on. He agrees to advise me on technical matters when I start my podcasting this spring.

"So." I take a bite of my gnocchi. "I'm starting to think I might be a bit of a bitch."

"You're starting to think that, huh?" He smiles. Concho Kid has long been aware that I have a . . . strong personality.

"Well, it just seems that sometimes I feel that I'm being a bit arch, but I don't mean any real harm. Yet I draw blood anyway."

"Continue," he tells me. "I don't want to get in the way of your self-discovery."

"My friend Joe has informed me that I often use a machete, in the apparent belief that I'm simply playing with a paring knife. He says I don't know my own rhetorical strength."

"That could be."

"Alternatively, it could be that I hang out with people who are brighter-than-average, and that such people tend to be hyper-sensitive."

CK gives me an odd smile. We had a hell of a falling out back when we were working together, and yet I stay in closer touch with him than I do any of my other colleagues from that time. And it's been over a decade. I call that a happy ending to any story.

I find myself thinking about what Martin G. used to say. (It's Martin's anniversary today. Yes: he got married on Leap Day. You know how mathematicians are.) Martin always maintained that one never really understands any given chapter in a college textbook (or, by extention, in life) until one was in the middle of the next chapter.

For years I thought that meant I was somehow behind schedule. Now I see that it's perfectly normal. It's also the reason I tell people my age: I have no desire to be confused with a 30-something—never mind that I look like one.

Everything I've ever figured out in life has cost me too much for me to turn my back on it now.

Including the fact that I can be a real bitch, without even meaning to. I keep thinking it would be worse if I weren't able to be a bitch at all.

Hackbarth on Beautiful Design . . .

vs. Getting the Job Done, and the history of that "red pickup truck" fundraising gimmick at the Fred Thompson campaign website.

So, Obama's Been Lying

. . . about the NAFTA thing. Good. Then he's a normal politician, rather than a dangerously naive loose cannon.

Via Insty, who points out, with respect to yesterday's speculation about "which bunch of rubes" was supposed to be fooled by Obama's campaign, we now know. Insty, yesterday:

When it comes to things like NAFTA, there seem to be only two possibilities. Either Obama's anti-NAFTA talk is a ruse to fool the rubes, or his coterie of distinguished economic experts is a ruse to fool a different batch of rubes.

Asked for comment, the Obama campaign remarked, "wow! Did you see that? A bobcat! You don't spot many of those around here any more."

Well, We All Have Our Contradictions.

Joyner indulges in a little meditation on the subject of William F. Buckley's relationship with homosexuality. (And, by the way: my congratulations to anyone who can decipher what Vidal and Buckley were saying during that infamous heated exchange in '68—two clipped upper-class East Coast accents are more than I can handle at once, particularly when they're talking over each other.)

"Love the sinner; hate the sin." That is probably the best one can hope for from orthodox Christians of a certain stripe. It is the best one could have hoped for from Buckley, as he was a Roman Catholic.

I regard myself as a Christian, yet I agree with Joyner that morally conflating sex with burglary is a bit much. As for Andrew Sullivan's remark that

Liebman was indeed a brother in combat, one of the great gay foes of totalitarianism, up there with Whittaker Chambers and Alan Turing. But he was always reminded that his gayness would bar him from full inclusion as an equal in the conservative movement,

I would remind people that most Libertarians are regarded in the same light. Even the ones who don't smoke pot; that's just the way things go. Are we all so sensitive that our happiness hangs on the thread of others' approval? That would be sad.

For a more robust approach to "defending homosexuality" (whatever that means) from a Conservative perspective, see: "Goldwater, Barry." Now there was a man.

There remain these three: Reagan, Buckley, and Goldwater. But the greatest of these was . . . Goldwater.

Scout's honor.

The Little Superpower

. . . that could.

UPDATE: Now new and improved, with a functional link!

More Ace of Spades Than You Could Possibly Want.

Over fourteen minutes' worth, in fact.

Via Robert Bluey's blog, I just found out what I would have realized three weeks ago, had I been paying attention: Townhall has video of the Blogger of the Year Award, along with other highlights from CPAC 2008.

You could tell when the BotY Award was about to begin: everyone unglued himself/herself from the monitor near Bloggers' Row, and physically went upstairs to the ballroom, which is normally too, um, brightly lit for our ilk. I sat next to Fausta, James Joyner, and David Foster of Photon Courier and Chicago Boyz for the speech, and watched the rest of my kin drift in as the time drew near. By the time Bluey began his introduction, the room was nearly packed with—as Dave Burge calls us—troubled loners.

"If I talk into that thing, does it make me ghey?

And Ace gave a great speech, though he did have sort of a love/hate relationship with the microphone; the right sound engineer might be able to get the mike to rock back and forth as he steps forward and backward, thereby keeping him at the same distance from it as he speaks. Would some, um, "moron" get right on that?

And we in the "new media" loved the pep talk on civic responsibility, and citizen involvement in governance. Mostly, though, we loved the idea that if we keep at this nonsense long enough, someone might hand each of us a check, just for ranting away on our laptops. (Okay—that perception is based on a sample of . . . one. that is to say, I might be projecting.)

EB: "There are conventions for bloggers?"
Joy: "Yes. They also had 'em in the 1980s for people who worked in computer graphics. Which wasn't a real industry 25 years ago; it was all subsized research and passion-fueled speculation. No one had yet figured out how to make a buck off of it."

"Oh, right . . . your husband works in that field. Doesn't he?"

Someone has to pioneer these things, you know. Trails don't just blaze themselves.

UPDATE 1: Photo added.

UPDATE 2: My other groundbreaking investigative reporting on how bloggers like to pat themselves and each other on the back is here. I managed, you'll note, to drop Joyner's name in both entries; you don't think that's going too far, do you?

I don't have any good pictures of James; most of the time when I point a camera in his direction he sports this look like, "must you? Every year? Have I really changed that much in the last 365 days?"

"Not this, again." James Joyner being a good sport under adverse conditions at CPAC 2007; pictured here with Mary Katherine Ham of Townhall and Sean Hackbarth of The American Mind.

Silver Linings!

Isn't Mark Steyn still the obituarist for The Atlantic? Does that mean in the next issue of Atlantic (or, perhaps, the one after that) I will get to read a tribute to one right-wing stud/god penned by yet another right-wing stud/god?

Everyone tells me Buckley was tired, and felt that he'd accomplished everything he wanted to. He was in the process of releasing this life, and he died at his desk—which sounds like the place to do it, too.

UPDATE: I forgot that Steyn blogs at NRO! Here we go: Mark Steyn on Bill Buckley.

I know what Jonah means about a life well-lived, as Bill's certainly was, but it's still hard to believe there'll be no more Buckley columns on this week's news, and next week's and next month's, and hard not to feel cheated that we were denied a nonagenarian Buckley sailing on in vigorous health toward his next century.

On the other hand, we lost Michael Kelly when he was still terribly young, and hadn't delivered on all his delicious promise.

How many of us really do, by the way?

Thurber's Dogs Just Arrived.

It will sit on top of Alarms & Diversions, The Thurber Carnival, Fables for Our Time, and one of my copies of Lanterns and Lances. (I am getting rid of the paperback copy—the "backup." I am de-cluttering, so one copy of any given book is probably enough.)

By the way, if you want to see a picture of James Thurber, go here. He looks just like his cartoons, of course—with the heavy-framed glasses and that contrasting bit of hair at the top of his head. (Though he has more hair, perhaps, than a lot of his cartoon men possess.)

Thurber's Dogs, comes to me via the library of a pipe smoker. Mmmm. Vanilla pipe tobacco: that was one of the things I loved about my grandfather. He was a difficult soul, so there weren't too many of these characteristics: his skill as a carpenter, and his his penchant for the color red are the only others that jump to mind just now. But that vanilla smoke smell just ruled.

Oh, and—you websearch people will be wanting a link to The Thurber House. So there you go.

Furthermore, here's a Thurber fansite, though it should be noted that one of his quotations is mangled therein.

(Is it possible that I'm as geeky in my own way as those people who know far too much about the Star Trek and Star Wars franchises?)

Insty on Hillary and Barack:

"It does seem odd that two candidates who claim they're going to 'repair America's world image' want to do so by ditching a treaty and starting trade wars."

Indeed.

And here's the Investor's Business Daily article he links, which discusses the Dems' stances with respect to NAFTA. Money quote:

America's capricious, chest-thumping protectionist ally, Mexico, a third-world nation that is trying hard to transform itself into a first, bears the brunt of this coded jingoism.

That's because trade pacts these days are about more than just trade — they represent long-term strategic partnerships. But after this talk, who'll want to sign a permanent trade deal knowing they'll be threatened by ambitious politicians every election season?

Far from being an enemy, Mexico is a partner with whom we did $350 billion in two-way trade last year. In the process, we've gained millions of high-paid jobs in the U.S. The relationship has boosted U.S. incomes an average $2,000 per family since 1994. Besides buying 35% of our global exports, Mexico and Canada are also two of our biggest oil suppliers, selling us energy we'd be in huge trouble without.

Casting NAFTA nations as villains sends a chilling message to the dozen other nations that have since signed NAFTA-like agreements — countries as friendly and diverse as Singapore, Jordan, El Salvador, Australia, Morocco and Chile.

Well, I Thought It Was Funny.

Though I know the video is trying to play the "Republicans Are Homophobes" card, and of course I wasn't crazy about the "New York Money guy" stereotype.

I mean, aren't most of us "totally gay for the U.S.A."? It's just that most of the boy-warbloggers out there . . . well, internationally speaking, gay or straight, they seem to be more interested in pitching vs. catching.

It makes a difference, you know.

h/t: Promenade Attorney.

("Excuse me while I strap this on . . .")

Ben Stein Movie Screening in L.A. Tomorrow.

We're having a small private screening tomorrow of Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed.

It's going to be a bit on the early side--3:00 p.m. We had several cancellations, so any bloggers or other New Media types who want to get onto the guest list should let me know immediately.

Thanks.

Goodbye, William F. Buckley.

You were the John the Baptist of the modern Conservative Movement—a voice crying in the wilderness.

The world would be a much poorer place without you.

And I loved your Mr. Howell accent.

Holy shit; it's hard to say goodbye to someone with your force of personality and badass intellect.

More on Ayers and Dohrn

At Belmont Club.

Now as to why reputable academic institutions should employ the likes of Ayers and Dohrn the answer is equally simple: solidarity. It's a solidarity that exists not only in the present but goes back through history. To observe that Adolf Hitler is reviled while Josef Stalin is still held in high regard by [the] Left may be seen by Goldberg as a contradiction. It is no such thing. It's just a fact. The Left isn't stupid. It's just on the other side.

The Anchoress on the Pain that is Part of Loving

Everyone I have ever loved I have hurt.

Awful knowledge. Unendurable. Knowledge to make one appreciate doubt and the easier way; the way of no cross.

Because if I love, and I make hurt, I am culpable. My fault, my own fault, my most grievous fault.

O save me.

Knowing all I can’t undo, I can only ask for mercy, and can only be mercy in return.

Which is insufficient.

Whom we love, we hurt, because we know we can.

And understanding that brings the deepest hurt of all.

Yup. More of her Lenten meditation here.

Or: "The pain then is part of the happiness now. That's the deal." (Joy in Shadowlands.)

There is no real way out, except in isolation—and that's even more heartbreaking. The Anchoress is right: in the pain of loving, we become fully alive.

Young Love

Supposedly Viriginia Woolf's Orlando was "the longest and most charming love letter in history" (according to Nigel Nicholson, son of the woman who served as a model for the book's protagonist, Vita Sackville-West). It's still the longest, but I'm no longer sure it's the most charming, now that the Sarah Silverman/Jimmy Kimmel videos exist.

Sarah started out strong:

But I have to give this one to Jimmy:

And Ben himself deserves special mention; he must have balls of steel. Wow.

Via Ace, who watches TV so I don't have to.

Oops.

Diebold dropped the ball:

Diebold Accidentally Leaks Results Of 2008 Election Early

Via Joyner.

Howard Dean Blows a Gasket. Again.

Matt Lewis at the Townhall Blog:

Howard Dean is attempting to pull off a dirty trick that would result in McCain not having a fair chance to compete.

The fact that Dean, himself, did the same thing makes it all the more hypocritical. And the fact that Dean argues that it was okay for him -- because the FEC voted to allow him to opt out -- while knowing the FEC cannot meet to vote to allow McCain out, should they want to -- makes this look politically expedient, and too cute by half.

And Jennifer Rubin adds, over at Commentary:

Davis declared twice that the McCain camp would “be happy to debate all day” who has broken their word on public financing and whose record of commitment to reform is stronger. (He reviewed some highlights of McCain’s career, including the Abramoff and Boeing investigations and the passage of campaign finance reform laws–which he accomplished over objections from his party and to his political detriment.)

The bottom line: the McCain people recognize they are essentially entering the general election battle and want to prevent Obama (as he did with Hillary Clinton) from stealing the mantle of reformer/change agent. I would expect to hear far more of the McCain camp line that “there is only one candidate” who broke his promise regarding campaign funding.

Free Paul Jacob

I had a fascinating interview yesterday with Mr. Paul Jacob, one of the "Oklahoma Three" who are under indictment for violating a law that requires petitioners on behalf of ballot initiatives to be residents of that state.

He is facing a ten-year prison sentence for violating a law that he insists he didn't violate in the first place, and which may well be unconstitutional. In any event, the prosecution is clearly a politically motivated one—an attempt to shut him up, and shut down the initiative process.

Mr. Jacob is a libertarian, and we had plenty to talk about—from his history of draft resistance to his work on behalf of term limits and his activism across the country to keep the ballot initiative process alive, and expand it into states where it isn't yet used.

"So term limits and ballot initiatives are complementary, equal parts of your approach to government reform?" I asked him.

"Complementary, yes. But not equal. Not equal at all," he replied. "Just because I think term limits are the best thing since sliced bread, doesn't mean I would give them priority over the initiative process. That's the safeguard: that's what gives citizens the ability to go over the heads of politicians."

"Since you're here in California, you know I'm going to ask you about Proposition 13," I remarked—alluding to Howard Jarvis' ground-breaking "tax revolt" initiative from 1978. "That changed everything here; it allowed a lot of people to keep their houses."

"I know it was huge here," he told me. "But it was enormously beneficial outside California. It showed the possibilities of the initiative process."

Talking with Mr. Jacob was a surrealistic experience: the whole saga sounded like something my friend Jane would be covering on behalf of the Yemenis; not events that that could be occurring in this country.

And yet, here he was—a good husband, and a father of three, looking at 10 years behind bars.

"My older daughter is getting married," he told me. "So she's making sure to have her wedding before we go to trial [tentatively schduled for February 2009], so I can walk her down the aisle."

This is reality; it affects every area of this family's life.

Free the Oklahoma Three. Support the initiative process. Free Paul Jacob.

Ten years in prison—for attempting to petition the government?

Here's a Tip to Iran's "Modesty Police"

Perhaps you need to be more modest yourselves. Just a thought.

A reminder: Many women continue to be arrested in Iran for violations of the strict dress code, and it doesn't always turn into a riot, as it did this time. The difference is that when it does, we can find out about it, due to cell phone videos and blogging.

The full story is here at PJ Media, including translations of what the crowd is chanting on the video.

The situation in Iran is untenable.

Via Insty.

I'm Sorry About the Storms in the Northeast.

But it isn't like I didn't handle weather extremes yesterday as I drove back to L.A. from Shell Beach.

For one thing, the temperature outside was a crisp 68 degrees; I really prefer 70 to 72.

For another, I left the sunroof open too long, and got a touch of sunburn.

The abandoned Arroyo Hondo bridge, along the U.S. 101

So it isn't like I don't have painful realities that I must come to terms with, in my own way.

Will McCain Attack Obama

. . . on the issue of experience? It didn't work so well when Senator Clinton tried it, but she was a special case.

Sean has some thoughts on how likely this would be to be effective—plus some juicy bonus video, and a little primo snark from Allahpundit.

Uh-oh.

Adorable pets everywhere are getting nervous around now.

Morrissey Joins Hot Air!

Captain's Quarters has now been assimilated into the Malkin Empire; all hail the Queen!

I know what you're thinking. But, for crying out loud: if we're going to complain about consolidation of power, can't we start somewhere logical? Let's begin with Google, and/or the gubmint.

h/t: Write Enough.

Yeah; I'm in Shell Beach.

How did you guess?

I don't know how much longer my grandmother will be imprisoned within the world of her deafness.

I don't know whether my uncle truly hopes, in his heart of hearts, that she'll hang on as long as possible. I don't know whether my father truly hopes, in his heart of hearts, that she will die soon. Or whether the motives are selfish or selfless in either case.

I do know that I'm caught in multiple paradoxes when I come up here: gratitude for the amazing care my grandmother receives in her last years, and that it is delivered by her son and daughter-in-law, rather than "staffers" at a "home." Gratitude that her own longevity may suggest I'll be around—with a sharp mind—for a long time to come. Gratitude for any pleasure she gets these days, and a hope that it's worth it, despite the isolation her deafness causes. Smug satisfaction that as an internet junkie I'll be able to communicate with others just fine view text messaging, email and the like--even if I can no longer hear.

A feeling that I will end up owing my uncle and aunt some sort of debt that I shall never be able to repay.

I would like to get up to the Pismo Beach Area once a month, but lately it's been more like every three months. I shall just have to do my best.

The bitchin' things:

1) getting to know my uncle much better than I ever did when I was a kid, and connecting on some level with his loyal and courageous bride;

2) the pretty drive up the coast;

3) Having my grandmother tell me things that she never told me when I was young. She is being very honest, lately—very real. At least, she was when we could communicate in two directions.

4) The enforced isolation at night here at the Oxford Inn and Suites (less so when there are other family members lurking in the same complex).

"Take the sweet with the sour, if you take me."
—W. B. Yeats

"Your Poor Grandma . . .

she can read for five hours at a stretch. I just couldn't handle that."

I open my mouth. I close it. If one had all the leisure in the world, why would one stop at five hours?

When I'm old and deaf it'll be nonstop murder mysteries, or something equally intriguing, yet salacious. Material that's intensely violent, sexual, and lyrical at the same time. Like good poetry, or my sweet menopausal dreams.

Althouse,

over at the InstaNewsRoom, writing about the NYT smear about McCain, and Bill Keller's defense thereof:

It's a ludicrous argument. It would mean that editors could purvey all sorts of trash as long as it is [was] embedded in a larger story. And when we get outraged, they could look down their noses and insult us about our poor reading comprehension.

Well, that is exactly what is being suggested: the affair thing was parenthetical. An aside. Shame on the American people, and our filthy dirty-Tom minds, for even noticing the allegation of a sexual affair. The real news lay elsewhere—in the fact that McCain was friends with a lobbyist.

I'm embarrassed. For myself. For my fellow conservatives. For America.

I feel, in fact, like a dirty, dirty whore.

"There's a Lot of Autobiographical Information on Your Blog," My Father Remarks.

"Maybe," I reply cautiously. "So. You, um . . . you read it occasionally?"

"Once every couple of weeks," he responds.

"Oh."

There is a pause, and then I announce, "you know what would be good? If you gave me, like 24-48 hours' notice before you went to my website."

"Whyyyyyyyy?" he draws the syllable out. Slowly. Deliberately.

"Because, then, um . . . then I'd be able to make sure the content was, like . . . really good. So you'd . . . um. So you'd be impressed."

I did not, of course, secure any such agreement. So either I clean up all the references to my family herein, or I find myself on a sort of psychological/electronic frontier for the rest of my life.

Probably the latter. Because . . . really—who has time to look through his/her archives?

Mary Katherine

. . . vs. the Gray Lady.

She makes it look so fun! Thanks, MKH; you're as smart and funny as you are beautiful.

Via Hackbarth.

7:20 a.m.

"Mmmmm. Caltech Girl?"

"No, it's Darleen. We're here at the restaurant. Are you on your way?"

"I'm on my way, I just . . . where are my glasses?"

"I don't know where you put your glasses, Dear. But Caltech Girl wanted to make sure you were awake."

"'Course I'm awake. Been up for hours. Izzer coffee down there?"

"There's coffee down the hill, yes. And Greta's here. We're waiting for you at the restaurant."

"Where are my glasses?"

"Have you checked your nightstand?"

"Oh, yeah, hey. There they are. But now I can't find my cell phone."

"Honey—it's in your hand. We called you on your cell phone."

"Okay, then I'll see you guys in a few. They have coffee there?"

"Yes, there's coffee. It's a restaurant. Just drive down the hill, okay?"

"Okay. Is Greta there?"

"Yes, Joy. Greta's here."

"Okay. I'll see you in ten minutes. But I might not have my cell phone with me. I can't find it anywhere."

The record should reflect the fact that Darleen was there on time, despite the fact that she drove in from Riverside County.

You Don't Need a Weatherman to Know Which Way the Media Leans . . .

Ace on the Obama connection to domestic terrorists Bernardine Dohrn and Bill Ayers:

Let me ask everyone a question: A man brutally murders his wife. Fifteen years pass, and now he's paroled.

He invites you to a party to discuss business possibilities with you. He does have money, and he could actually offer you some decent opportunities.

Do you go? Or do you not even dignify this murderer with a "no"?

For some reason, the hard left—of which Barack Hussein Obama appears increasingly to be a part—feels that there is some distinction between a terrorist and a murderer, and while the murderer perhaps should be socially ostracized, one can still do business with, and pal around with, the terrorist.

Why they believe this is a question no one in the MSM has bothered to ask them.

That was one of the things that changed for many of us in the wake of 9/11. Most Americans found themselves unable to tolerate any sort of terrorism any more, once we'd seen it up close. Irish-Americans stopped sending money to the IRA. It was over. Finished.

As a nation, we experienced a consciousness shift: most of us no longer found it possible to proclaim that "one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter."

Sure: a few of my far-left friends continued to defend, for example, Palestinian actions against "soft targets" (read: civilians), but the era of terrorist chic had come to a close.

For most of us.

Not so, apparently, for Barack Obama.*

Remember: The Weathermen sighed—and people died.

These are legitimate issues for the mainstream media—or possibly some responsible journalists—to ask the Obama campaign about.

* According to the Little Miss Attila style sheet, use of Barack Obama's middle name still constitutes dirty pool. Please recall that my sister's middle name is Syrian. Anyone who'd like to make an issue of this is invited to try. I suggest you wear Kevlar for that interview, however.

McArdle Checks In with Her Mom.

Over at InstaPundit:

The Swing Voter is completely outraged by the New York Times story—she vows to no longer take the Times—nay, not even for the Sunday crossword. She is also now thinking seriously about voting for McCain just to spite The New York Times.

I found myself offering a tepid defense of what really is a pretty indefensible story: to wit, that reporters in cases like this usually know more they can tell, because so many sources refuse to go on the record. The Swing Voter was unmoved. She feels like the Times, and the sort of people who staff the Times, feel that they are entitled to manipulate the election in order to get the "right" results—that such a story would never have run about a Democrat. No doubt the folks at the Times would strenuously disagree—but it matters that people feel that way. I seriously doubt my mother is the only one.

I'm quite sure she is not.

Uh-Oh. Still Losing Weight.

But I am above 110. I don't have to worry until I dip below that, right?

I'm at 113.5 tonight. That was normal when I was 25; these days, it feels like low tide.

And there is, of course, the argument that the causality arrows go in the other direction: that I'm depressed because my blood sugar is chronically low, and that if I only ate more, I'd feel better.

I still think the solution is to start smoking: that way, I could create a little gap in between when the caffeine ends and the alcohol begins. It would be, you know: wholesome.

Correct Me If I'm Wrong: We're Back to Titty-Fucking, Again.

[Potential gin-industry sponsors: I command you to ignore this post!]

Ladies and gentlemen . . . the man. The phenomenon. The eyebrow. Stephen Colbert.

Has anyone ever noticed how Jeff P., during his not-so-brief reign in the blogosphere (before he retired to do Real Writing again), never called himself gay? It was always "as a homo . . . "

I miss Jeff. And he's 400 miles away. Road trip!

My Moment of Fame on the Continent.

Cécile Grégoriadès interviewed me last week in my "adopted hometown" of Santa Monica, California, about the upcoming national election—and listened just as carefully to my stories of going to high school in Dogtown as she did to my views on John McCain.

She's a sweet, wonderful woman. Very bright. We were in her neighborhood, down by Main Street. I knew I was being silly, but I insisted on walking her back to her apartment building. Never mind that she towers over me: it's a mixed area, and I know how to handle the South side of Santa Monica. Hell—I used to live in Venice, until the drug dealers chased me out. Some part of me felt that it was no area for people who are truly nice. And never mind that houses there start at a bit over a million dollars; the bums are still always out in force.

Hey! Nobody told me that an interview with Le Monde would be published in . . . French. No fair!

Seriously: If only my French weren't so nonexistent/sucky.* But the interviews actually play in both languages on Le Monde's site—English first, translation second; the quality is remarkably good, and having the audio in the background while one reads the interviews is a good multi-media approach, shy of having to videotape every interview one conducts. Nice blend of online "print" and podcasting. And Cécile has a great microphone.

A special shout-out to Cécile: remarkably sensitive in her questions, she listened very well to what could have been quite a "hard right" point of view on American national security issues. (I am less right-wing on other topics, of course.)

* I did get, however, find out at CPAC that I was still able to converse in pidgin German with a couple of European journalists. At least, I rather think I did; I was on my second dirty martini at the time.

UPDATE: Place this quote:

"Le Monde? It's a great price, for a small vice."

UPDATE 2: David Linden writes in from New York City:

Mon Dieu!

The interview is great. The photo, however, makes it look like some Islamo-Fascist just stuck a baguette up your ass.

His ex-girlfriend, aka the Manhattan Moosette, assures me that the translation seems fairly accurate.

Ah, Yes.

But does Obama know what the term "semi-automatic firearm" means?

I mean, other than Big Bad Gun?

For the Record:

I do think The New York Times did Senator McCain a big favor by bringing out a rather weak slam piece with such . . . obvious . . . timing.

Found Out Where My Troll Came From

FireDogLake.

It was rather a fascinating exchange (a few posts down, wherein I refer to Allahpundit's take on The NYT). Though very ADHD, of course.

Their heads are, for the most part, so full of interesting stereotypes about "the right." We're like cardboard characters to them.

At least some of them "get" that Macs rule . . . ;) And even my troll referred to Sharia Law as an "abomination."

Common ground! See? We can all get along.

Over at Hit & Run,

my beloved Jonathan Rauch makes me choose between loving him, and disliking McCain as intensely as I have been wont to do.

I think Rauch's star will simply have to "settle" a bit within the big black sky of my heart.

So, We're All in the Same Boat.

Ready to lube up and take one for the team.

But markedly unenthusiastic, according to the latest John Hawkins poll.

I've Never Done This Before.

Please be gentle.

I Hate It

. . . when there isn't anything good on the internet.

I may have to go read one of those dead-tree thingies.

Allahpundit to The New York Times:

How does it feel to have the credibility of your reporting disparaged by, ahem, The New Republic?

Good question.

But they may be too busy scrambling for readers to come up with much of an answer to that.

Last Night I Woke Up

. . . in a cold sweat, wondering about Cream of Wheat. Concerned about whether it . . . you know . . . plays for the other team.

Today, I read this awful confirmation.

A Senator? Hanging Out with a Lobbyist?

J. Peter Freire, writing in AmSpec on the current (somewhat anemic, IMO) McCain scandal:

The story is simply a catalogue of potential sins that are never realized, offered by sources that are never named. No wonder McCainiacs are ticked. Yet this is precisely the sort of scrutiny of moral conscience that McCain has supported.

The NRA and the ACLU both can't buy ad time in the days before an election because doing so, by virtue of the ethical senator's own philosophy, is manipulating the people and hurting democracy. But when McCain hops a flight with a campaign contributor, it ought to be obvious that he's maintaining his integrity. Why is it that associations comprised of every day citizens are suspect, but a powerful politician is not?

Sure, he's a son of a bitch. But he's the son of a bitch who's getting crammed down our throats.

Via Megan McArdle, who mentioned this over at Insty's place.

How Funny; The Anchoress Loves Semicolons.

And so do I. We're both in Neocon's club.

My affection for semicolons has led to complaints in the past, from other bloggers who felt that I truly abused these handy little punctuation marks.

They are wrong, though—my real vice is the em-dash, which can be used in much more flexible ways than the semicolon.

Via Althouse, blogging over at The Court of Insty.

Note: You think I'm joking? What do you imagine copyeditors talk about over lunch and dinner? Substance? Or style?

Note II: At the risk of being accused of too much free association before I even take my nightly Ambien, does anyone want to place this quote?

You could say she has an individual style;
She's part of a colorful time.

Q: What sort of person actually inserts quotation marks into the song lyrics he or she quotes?

A: A copyeditor, of course.

If My Blogging Sucks Lately, It's Because I'm Getting Hits.

Stage fright. You know how that goes.

The Lunar Eclipse Was Nice.

My boss called me when it started, and told me it was visible from the parking lot at work. I went on down, but couldn't spot it; he might not have been taking the ambient light in that neighborhood into account, or maybe it was blocked by a building.

But it was waning (is that the word?) as I drove home. I kept looking at it, and finally pulled over to try to get a shot with my tiny camera and rather sad command of "digital photography" (and what a funny term that is, now that I think of it—as if we took pictures with our fingers).

No dice, of course. But I'm sure someone's getting a good picture of it, somewhere. There are people out there with good equipment, who know what they're doing.

So I just came home, fired up the laptop, and walked outside to admire the moon every now and then from my driveway.

That's the reason I bought this house, you know: the view of the moon from this street.

I hope I can still find a way to look at it after I've left. Do they have the moon at night in other cities? Can one see it from a condominium? I just want to be prepared, you know.

Tonight, the moon was, indeed, the North Wind's Cookie.

UPDATE: Aha! Here we go! Eclipse pix!

I Love It When RightGirl Pimps Me Out.

Thanks for the traffic, Darlin'. Just let me know what you need, and . . . I'll be there.

Professor Purkinje:

"When you publish these little character sketches, snippets of dialogue, bits of gossip and the like, how do your political readers react?"

"My readers? I'm supposed to be thinking of my readers?

"Yes; your readers."

"Oh. Now that you mention it, that explains a few things."

That's why some of us become CPAC's Blogger of the Year, and others do not: Dedication. Stuff like that.

"I Shouldn't Be Drinking Coffee This Late in the Afternoon," I Tell My Boss.

"That's okay," he responds. "When you get home, you can switch to Scotch."

"Oh, right. Fair enough," I reply.

At first I think he's joking, though he doesn't drink. Later, I realize he is not. Not joking at all.

Pete Townshend:

"Mature? I'm not mature! I'm derelict!"

Yeah; I've been listening to some of the tracks from Psychoderelict. Love that album.

More on Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed

Good morning, David!

Here's the pivotal quote from Jonathan Rauch in that book of his I got from a Virginia Postrel bibliography, and cannot stop pimping, Kindly Inquisitors:

It is quite useless to pretend that it is "fair," in the sense of evenhanded, to kick someone's beliefs out of the canon if they do not happen to be deemed science by the intellectual establishment. If we on the Darwinian side of the question are going to insist on preferential treatment for our way of looking at the world (and we should), and if in the process we are going to cause pain and outrage to people who do not see the world our way, then we had better have an awfully good reason—a much better reason than "because we're right and you're wrong and that's that." If we do not, then shame on us.

In point of fact, David, I probably come closer to your view of science than I do to Ben Stein's in No Intelligence Allowed. But that isn't quite the point: this isn't about what you think, or what I think. This is about what one may and may not say in the Academy without being called a nut. It is about protecting the system of rational inquiry. It's about reminding ourselves that "the solution for the problem of bad speech is more speech." And the solution for the problem of bad research is more research. Bad papers, more papers.

All I'm asking for is tolerance, rather than the narrow-mindedness that insists that we abstain from mentioning the possibility of God's existence in a university classroom.

More is at stake, by the way, than the definition of science: there is the issue of intellectual diversity in American Universities. This is the problem Evan Coyne Maloney has been calling attention to with his documentary Indoctrinate U. If your problem with "Intelligent Design" has to do with its not being science, are you equally consistent with respect to professors in other academic disciplines sticking to their own areas of expertise?

Because many of your colleages are not, and have no problem with teaching left-wing politcs from the podium. I trust you aren't among them, but it is a real concern for those of us who don't like to see the Ivory Tower getting too narrow at the top.

Fresh from the Corner

Larry Kudlow on the End of Inevitability:

Hillary's best bet to preserve her career as a professional politician? Pull back significantly in Texas and Ohio, as a prelude to withdrawal. Bill will say no, 'cause his career is even deader than hers. But Hillary has more class than he does. She still has some vague sense of reality, of the difference between right and wrong, even if he does not.

The Intrade pay-to-play prediction market shows Obama with a 7.5-point gain tonight, giving him a 78 to 20 lead. That's right, 78 to 20. Hillary has suddenly become an incredibly steep inverted yield curve, with a rapidly declining credit rating and a complete drying up of liquidity. She won't be able to raise two wooden nickels, and not even Bill can raise enough money in Dubai to keep her out of bankruptcy.

As of tonight, the market has officially pulled the plug, terminating her campaign. The only thing left for her is to muster some grace, humility and character to begin the process of pulling out. To do otherwise will destroy the Democratic party and what's left of the Clintons' badly tarred and tattered reputation.

The real winner tonight? That chap from Arizona. Captain John McCain.

Ann Coulter couldn't be reached for comment, but that likely won't last long . . . She and I are now both officially out of options. It's McCain.

There. I said it.

Little-Known Fact:

When one is matching a dinner of three blueberry mini-muffins with an appropriate wine, one should look at reasonably full-bodied cabernets, such as the 2005 Fish-Eye California Cabernet—reasonably price at $5.99 and available in a handy screw-top, corkless, high-tech bottle.

I happen to have one sitting on the table by the couch.

Okay, David.

I'm working on the long answer to your post. But here's the short one: we can solve this very easily.

We get two intellectually juicy Jewish guys into a mud pit—let's say, you and Ben Stein.

Then we get another intellectually juicy Jewish guy in there as referee—let's say, Jonathan Rauch. To give you a slight edge over Stein, he's an athiest, and a staunch believer in traditional evolutionary biology.

And then we see what happens in the contest between Scientific Orthodoxy and Free Speech Informed by Faith.

Rauch will adjudicate it fairly. Really: He has honest eyes.

No? Fair enough. You'll get a real answer once I've gathered my thoughts, and/or whittled my real post down to novella length.

I'm Waiting for the Center-Right, Libertarian, or Classical Liberal Award from the MSM Organizations.

Holding my breath; starting to turn blue . . .

(Via Memeorandum.)

James Thurber:

Fake Dixie always enchants me after midnight. I prayed God to keep my hand off her knee.
—"Midnight at Tim's Place"

(From memory; someone can fact-check me on the quote, but I'm pretty sure I'm spot-on.)

In the same vein I intend someday to party with The Blogger Formerly Known As Feisty Republican Whore. If RightGirl were to join us, however, I fear Western Civilization might end—and rather abruptly, at that.

Too Good Not to Share

Hillary's a hunter!

She learned how to hunt from her father in Arkansas . . . she did grow up in Arkansas, didn't she? Or she used to go duck hunting in suburban Illionois—one of the two.

Via Insty.

Ta-ta, Fidel.

Fausta's got the story; she'll be talking about Castro's resignation on her podcast in a bit over an hour (8:00 Pacific; 11:00 Eastern).

My only question is, "is this real?" Or will Fidel still hold the puppet strings? Will his brother have any real power?

Fausta (with Sean of The American Mind, at CPAC—whose Castro resignation post is also good). I decided I'd rather run a picture of these two, rather than the old dictator. They're a lot more photogenic.

A Salute to Adam . . .

for no reason at all, except that I wanted to post this pic on his birthday, but my computer was acting up. It lets me post pix when it is in the mood, and at no other time.

Trivia question: what Southern California pier was this taken on?

Goldstein on FISA . . .

and how the House Democrats are picking the trial lawyers . . . um, I mean, our CIVIL LIBERTIES!—over fairly pedestrian gathering of intelligence:

Protecting the country’s surveillance capabilities in a time of war? Not so much. Protecting trial lawyers? A party imperative.

As the neo-civil libertarians on the left continue to argue (in between crafting smoking bans and environmental legislation that will have the government, in essence, monitoring your thermostat), their real concern here is that the telecoms not be given immunity for their “illegal activity.” Point out to them that no “illegalities” have been established, and the answer is always the same: if these big corporations have nothing to hide, than why would they need immunity? — an argument that studiously ignores two obvious facts, first, that litigation not only penalizes the telecoms financially (would they go to court or just settle?) while enriching the trial lawyers (who get paid either way); and second, that such a threat of legal liability is also a back door way of keeping risk-averse corporations from cooperating with the government. After all, why cooperate if doing so could open you up to a lawsuit, even if you have assurances that what your are doing isn’t illegal?

After all, Jeff points out—along with Andy McCarthy—the intel we lose while Pelosi et al. go out for their recess will likely "stay lost." Fewer dots to connect, and all that. But it's okay: it'll be Bush's fault if the dots don't get connected, no?

For decades now, the Dems have worked (with outspoken exceptions) to weaken US security — either by placing (unconstitutional, in my opinion) restrictions on intelligence agencies (FISA was never supposed to affect military intelligence gathering), or by cutting military spending, or by adopting a cynical tone of moral indignation at the “loss of freedoms” that they know to be a chimera of their own construction.

Which is their prerogative, naturally — but something that John McCain should be outraged by (if only for appearances), and seeking to use as wedge issue by trumpeting his concerns to his buddies in the media. Like a shiny maverick riding to the rescue of a weakened nation.

Yeah, well. That's McCain. I'm still torn between actually voting for the man, and writing in "a ham and cheese panino."

Take home lesson #1: however awful you think the Rethuglicans are on national security, they are less-bad than the Democrats. Mostly.

Take home lesson #2: never hesitate to shrewishly nag your favorite bloggers into posting more. They'll pretend to resist, but at some point they will buckle, leading to juicy reads. Hooray for the juicy reads! (And less-hooray for the depressing events they chronicle.)

Sure. The Magazine Won't Ship,

and the company will be out hundreds of thousands of dollars.

But Laura will be happy. So stay home if you're sick, even if you're under deadline!

The question of the day being: When does the American work ethic/way of doing business conflict with sound public health policy?

Seriously: I used to work for a company that had me shipping a "book" (a magazine) every two weeks. Getting sick wasn't an option. I used to keep a stash of cough syrup in my desk drawer, and I switched from coffee to tea-without-milk, so I could muddle through when I was sick. I had to be there.

And my mother the schoolteacher helpfully reminds me that in one's first 1-2 years in a public school, the human immune system is utterly overwhlemed, and one is sick half the time—or better.

So, teachers: stay home. The kids will entertain themselves, and your immune system won't get "over the hump."

But Laura will be happy. Has she never worked somewhere where she was actually, you know—necessary?

Give It Up, Darleen.

All the testosterosphere cares about is, "is she hawt?"

And she is. End of story.

"At Least the Moon at the Window . . ."

Joni Mitchell is so underrated as a poet.

"It takes cheerful resignation,
Heart and humility;
That's all it takes,"
A cheerful person told me. How could they be?
And, nobody's harder on you than you.

Betsy's blue;
She says-"Tell me something good!"
You know I'd help her out if I only could.
Oh, but sometimes the light
Can be so hard to find;
At least the moon at the window—
The thieves left that behind.

People don't know how to love;
They taste it and toss it,
Turn it off and on
Like a bathtub faucet.
Oh sometimes the light
Can be so hard to find—
At least the moon at the window—
The thieves left that behind.

I wish her heart;
I know these battles.
Deep in the dark,
When the spooks of memories rattle.
Ghosts of the future,
Phantoms of the past,
Rattle, rattle, rattle
In the spoon and the glass.

Is it possible to learn
How to care and yet not care—
Since love has two faces:
Hope and despair.
And pleasure always turns to fear, I find.
At least the moon at the window—
The thieves left that behind .
At least they left the moon
Behind the blind
Moon at the window.

I just took an extra Ritalin; it seemed like the thing to do. Ex-fucking-celsior!

Obama and the Arab World . . .

Via Insty, an interesting observation from The Belmont Club:

There are two ironies here. The first is that while Barack Obama has gone out of his way to say that he is 'not a Muslim', in a wider sense the Muslims have taken him into their bosom. An acquaintance, writing from Jakarta says the same feeling is pretty strong over there too. While in America he projects the image of rallying America he simultaneously conveys the impression of being on the side of the Arab too.

The other irony of course is that the Arab attraction for Obama is potentially at odds with the Arab desire for a powerful America which can contain Iran. So far Obama has managed the remarkable feat of being all things to all men, even men who are mortally opposed to each other. What happens when he has to come down on one side or the other?

Reynolds remarks with characteristic understatement: "my guess is that someone will be be disappointed." Indeed.

More from the Belmont post:

Tamara Cofman Wittes, who's attending the annual 5th Annual U.S.-Islamic World Forum notices that anti-US rhetoric is way down this year. Instead of fire-breathing anti-American keynote speakers, "the opening keynote was instead delivered by President Hamid Karzai of Afghanistan, who argued that Muslims in Afghanistan and Bosnia were right to expect and accept American military intervention to relieve their suffering, and America was just in coming to their aid."

The reason for the change in tone has been a grudging respect for successes in American foreign policy and Washington's new focus on Iran.

Is It "In" To Be White, Now?

Maybe. Or perhaps, as usual, people still use "white" as a sort of signifier for "middle class." Now that's irony.

Joyner cops to being white—though not on all stereotypical fronts—and Sandra Tsing Loh referred to herself recently in The Atlantic as "whitish." (The phrase appears in her review of Letters to a Young Teacher, by Jonathan Kozol—it isn't online yet; "Tales Out of School, page 91. Her auto-libel is on page 98.) That one worried me. Isn't she actually equally "Asianish"? Or are we getting into Tiger Woods country, here?

Paging Jeff Goldstein . . .

So Obama Wants Wisconsin.

At least, he's outspending Clinton there, according to Sean. By a considerable margin, too.

"Poor Millard Fillmore."

S.R. writes:

Poor Millard Fillmore. The butt of schoolyard jokes, TV sitcom jokes, and TV advertisement jokes. The thirteenth president of the United States (last prominent member of Whig Party, serving from 1850 until 1853) ascended to the office upon the death of Zachary Taylor. (It's believed Taylor died of gastroenteritis.)
So, what's the truth about President Fillmore? Here are the major points of his three years in office. He pushed five major bills through Congress to:

• Admit California as a free state;
• Settle the Texas boundary and compensate her;
• Grant territorial status to New Mexico;
• Place Federal officers at the disposal of slaveholders seeking fugitives;
• Abolish the slave trade in the District of Columbia.

Another important legacy of Fillmore's administration was the sending of Commodore Matthew C. Perry to open Japan to Western trade, though Perry did not reach Japan until Franklin Pierce had replaced Fillmore as President.
And what of that famous story about the bathtub, for which poor President Fillmore is best remembered (and ridiculed)? Well, some biographers credit humorist and national scold H.L. Mencken with starting the hoax that Fillmore was the first president to have a bathtub with running water in the White House. So, now you know.

And so do the rest of you. Thanks, S.R.!

I Don't Think a Lot of North Americans

. . . will be experiencing real, sustained hunger any time soon.

We've forgotten what that feels like.

Might I Suggest . . .

that the college kids "lawyer up" before the next mass shooting in a supposedly "gun-free" zone, rather than afterward?

Whom am I supposed to root for, here? Must I really suggest that if you're crazy enough to want to leave the planet—and take a few others with you in a blaze of ingloriousness—that you select an institution with a large "endowment"?

I wonder what would happen if one of these hugely-endowed universities got shot up. Like Harvard, with a $35 billion endowment. Man, if the lawyers didn’t start setting the folding tables up outside the student union like the credit card companies do every September, I’d lose all respect for their sleaziness.

The lawyers', or the universities'? Or both? Neither has a monopoly on sleaziness.

Via Insty, who's riffing off of Jay Tea at Wizbang.

I'd really like to see the laws against carry on campus challenged—before they lead to more loss of life.

Goldstein's Back!

And as polysyllabic as ever. Today's subject: is race real? Not very, of course.

To many contemporary social scientists and race theorists, the idea that “race” is something essential — that “blood” differences determine racial identity — is too close to the kind of thinking that has historically justified (and legally codified) separatism and, its civic offshoot, race-based social policy, bigotry, and racism. Which is why many theorists have worked so diligently to disarticulate race from blood, and reconstitute it as a product of human conception — a social construct — a maneuver that they believe allows them to rescue the category of race while simultaneously cleansing it of its least desirable attribute: the idea that it is somehow fixed and, by extension, determinative.

For my part, I’ve argued that the social construction argument for race — based as it is on dubious claims to history, memory, and heritage that collapse under the weight of logical analysis — is, at its heart, no different from the blood argument for race, in that both rely on an identical first cause, namely, an a priori belief in what one is.

That's the problem.

Jennifer Rubin at AmSpec . . .

on the rather delicate issue of whether the DNC will adhere to its own primary rules, or—well, count every vote from disenfranchised Florida and Michigan:

The problems this poses for the Democrats are political, not legal. It is well established through a line of Supreme Court and lower court decisions that the political parties can set virtually any rules they wish for selecting a nominee. Burt Neuborne, NYU law professor, explains succinctly that "political parties are free to structure their nominating processes any way they want, as long as they don't discriminate on the basis of race." Most recently, Senator Bill Nelson's failed district court case in Florida (Democratic Party v. Jones) showed that the courts have little interest in meddling with the internal rules of a party, regardless of how important the stakes.

However, the issue is not merely a legal one for the DNC or for the potential nominee. This is, you will recall, the same party that championed the cry of "count every vote" when George Bush and Al Gore fought over Florida's vote and again when the results from Ohio in 2004 showed a close, election-ending victory for Bush. Then the party officialdom, egged on by the usual gang of liberal civil rights groups, argued that even though the result might not produce a different outcome the principle of making every citizen's vote matter was paramount.

In anticipation of an ugly floor fight and to avoid offending voters in two key states the DNC may try to broker a "deal," a compromise of sorts to count or partially count the prior returns and have a new caucus or convention in the spring so Michigan and Florida voters can have a say. Clinton would like nothing better, of course, ideally to vault her into the lead in the delegate count or, at the very least, to demonstrate an underlying weakness in her opponent and pique the superdelegates' interest in swinging the nomination her way. Obama, on the other hand, likely wants no surprises, no recount, and no rule changes at this point.

Aside from the delicious possibility that the Democrats will be tied up in knots and create real excitement at the convention, political observers and operatives have reason to be concerned about the outcome of this fight. On one hand, the ability of the parties to make and enforce rules is at stake. As pollster and political analyst Charlie Cook puts it, "This is a fight over whether appropriately-adopted party rules matter, or whether there is electoral anarchy, with any state doing what they darn well please." If there is any hope to enforce a more rational primary calendar in the future, the DNC must stick to, or be perceived as sticking, to its guns.

However, the Democrats' own rhetoric is coming home to roost. The NAACP Chairman Julian Bond has already written a letter to DNC Chairman Howard Dean expressing "great concern at the prospect that million of voters in Michigan and Florida could ultimately have their votes completely discounted." Upping the ante, he went on to contend that excluding these delegates would revive memories of the "sordid history of racially discriminatory primaries."

On a more mundane partisan level, Democrats would be wary about telling voters from the always key state of Florida that, unlike 2000, their votes really shouldn't count. Republicans would certainly like nothing better [than] to welcome snubbed Florida Democrats with open arms.

So even though the nomination may not hang on it, the ongoing battle over Michigan and Florida's delegates may prove to be an ongoing source of agony for the Democrats. That can only mean one thing for Republicans: grab a bag of popcorn and enjoy the show.

I'll be buying it in bulk during the Dem convention; this should be good. After all, without a real Republican candidate to vote for, I'll have to take my pleasure where I can find it for the foreseeable future.

Attention SoCal Alternative Media Types!

The producers of Ben Stein's Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed are putting together their contact lists for Los Angeles screening(s) of the movie, which questions the putative exclusion of Intelligent Design from academic debate about the evolution of species and the origins of life.

I've seen the film once, but it raised more questions for me than it answered. So I must go again. It is beautifully done.

Any webloggers, podcasters, or radio people who would like their info forwarded to the PR team/producers should email me about this within 48 hours, so I can give the organizers an idea of the new-media demand. As I understand it, people with science/biology backgrounds are especially encouraged to throw their hat into the ring for these screenings. (Of course CalTech Girl and her public-schoolteacher husband are going; you had to ask?)

Hope to hear from you soon; thanks!

I Dunno.

Assassinations of progressives are so 1960s, at least in this country.

It was kind of a mid-century fad—like those colored glass balls attached to branches of wood and made to look like oversized bunches of grapes. Weren't those on, like, every coffee table in America for a year or two? While "My Beautiful Balloon" played on the radio, and booths were installed in the corners of every avocado-green-accented kitchen? That was right before we started in on the shag carpeting, IIRC.

The last time someone made a try for a President, it was Ronald Reagan, a Republican. And the most heartbreaking Presidential assassination in this country has to remain that of Abraham Lincoln. He was a Democrat, though. Right? Right?

Sean on the McCain-Obama Contest,

and McCain's tin ear when it comes to conservative voters (and the rest of 'em, for that matter):

The only people who care about public financing of campaigns are so-called “good government” wonks. This issue is nowhere on voters’ radars. Sure, it’s part of McCain’s brand as a reformer, but it doesn’t put Obama on the defensive. The Illinois Senator can shrug it off by countering that he’ll focus on issues that actually affect the American people: health care; the economy; and the Iraq War. While Obama will look more engaged with voters McCain will appear more abstract and aloof.

To make matters worse for McCain talking about public financing of campaigns will irritate conservative critics. It not only brings up the disagreement many have with him on his namesake first amendment restriction legislation, but many conservatives consider public financing as campaign socialism.

Why bother with an issue that will gain him little advantage when there’s an issue sitting right in front of him begging for a strong, passionate approach? For the life of me I can’t understand why McCain hasn’t taken up the Berkeley-Marines issue. Some straight talk in defense of U.S. Marines would galvanize conservatives and create a wedge between the anti-war/military Left and independents and law-and-order types Sens. Clinton and Obama want in November.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

UPDATE: McCain went after Obama over earmarks and transparency. That’s a much better issue. He needs to forget campaign finance and sink his teeth deep on this.

RTWT; he's got links and stuff.

It's True.

Zendo Deb on why this school shooting was different from other recent ones that have received a lot of publicity. I dated a girl in high school, and we tried to be discreet. But the gay and bisexual guys were the ones we had to be very protective of, and extremely secretive about.

Because if someone found out about girls having affairs with girls, we'd mostly get taunted (e.g., the girl in my anthropology class who'd exclaim "dyke," every time I showed up). The stakes with guys were higher: if any of the supposedly straight guys were found out to be bi or gay, they might get beaten up.

Or killed.

So don't talk to me about the gay fuckin' agenda, okay?

Make 'Em an Offer

. . . they can't refuse:

My favorite image from the USMC kerfuffle in Berzerkley.

Via ZombieTime, via Dave in Texas over at Ace's place, via former Marine and successful writer Write Enough.

That lay in the house that Jack built.

Um, Senator Obama . . .

what kind of change is it, exactly, that you had in mind?

Insty:

Obama's policy proposals are getting a lot more attention than they did before Hillary's inevitability broke down. Like Mike Huckabee, he got a "nice guy" pass when people thought he didn't have a shot, but a few wins in a row and he's starting to get major-candidate scrutiny. Some Obama supporters object to such scrutiny, but their claims ring rather hollow. After all, he is running for President.

The audacity of asking questions . . .

"O Bama, Oh oh Bama." I love that song. Go buy David's book, now: he spends the proceeds on feeding me when I'm on the East Coast. Really. I think I gained weight during my two days in Baltimore this time.

And he forced port and excellent Scotch upon me. I take it back: buy two copies. They make great, um, Easter gifts.

"And I Knew It Was Love at First Sight . . ."

Who could fail to fall for Right Girl? Not me.

She's my own little Hadji Girl. Except that I actually get along with her family—at least, with her warm and charming husband.

So I Was Contemplating What Might Happen To the Economy . . .

if Obama were elected President.

And I passed out.

Of course I won't deny that he'd be the best-looking President we've had in a good long time. Ears notwithstanding, and despite that mole to the right of his nose.

It's just that . . . I don't think the people who would be thrown out of work—or have their civil liberties infringed upon—will be as impressed with the man's looks as we might, um, hope.

UPDATE: Catch that buzz. D.R. Tucker at Human Events remarks that "we might as well start calling him President Obama right now," and posits that wwwe are heading, well, somewhere in a handbasket:

The right may not like it, but any conservative criticism of “Obama-mania” will inevitably be regarded as sour grapes by Obama partisans and the mainstream press (but I repeat myself). After all, some on the right (most notably William Kristol) wanted Colin Powell to run as a Republican in 1996 precisely because they knew he would receive this sort of national adulation as a candidate—national adulation that would have swept Powell and the GOP into the White House, his own left-wing social views notwithstanding.

Had the Iraq War not been so controversial and so demonized, Condi Rice might have received this kind of national worship. If the war had ended with a stable Iraq and very few American casualties, Rice would have been embraced from sea to shining sea as a Presidential candidate. The mainstream media’s attacks on Rice would have had no effect whatsoever.

How can the Republicans run against Obama? It won’t be enough to highlight his far-left voting record. It’s been a long time since a Democrat lost a Presidential election solely because he was a liberal.

Michael Dukais, Al Gore and John Kerry all had serious moonbat tendencies, but it was their flaws as candidates, not their ideology alone, that ultimately brought about their losses.

Read Tucker's full post. Then get drunk, get up tomorrow sometime, and go back to fighting the good fight. What choice (except in that bogus absolute philosophical sense) do we have?

Riots in Denmark

Gateway Pundit has a summary.

I've lived through exactly one set of riots (okay, okay: two—I was quite young during the Watts riots, and I lived many miles away in Whittier, so I was far from the flames).

But during the Rodney King riots in 1992, the saving grace was that some people had guns, and were able to defend their lives and property when they absolutely had to.

I know England has largely given up on there being a fundamental right to self-defense‐even when guns aren't used at all (for instance, when one uses any sort of blunt instrument against an attacker—this is often prosecuted.)

But has the rest of Western Europe done so as well? And when the veneer of civilization wears thin—as it does everywhere, from time to time—what recourse does the common person have against these, um, overly exuberant "youths"?

Self-defense isn't simply a human right; it is the human right.

h/t to Dean Esmay, who's been carrying the button/legend about self-defense forever. It always struck me as a fundamental truth.

And I'm Supposed To Be "Loyal" to These Clowns . . .

why?

Edinburgh Rock

Canadian blogger RightGirl and her badass Celtic husband at CPAC. Oh, how I love those two: I must entice them to get down here to L.A.

Thank you, Darrell.

No girl could ever have a better stalker than you: I got the little model Cruiser last night. This morning the Chrysler racing jacket and the Hendrick's gin caddy arrived.

And I'm still wearing that cashmere cardigan every day: the buttons appear to be made of real bone, and that sweater is the softest thing I own. Perfect for wearing on its own here, or layering on the East Coast.

I'm about to take a short break from the salt mines; I might read the James Thurber book I have stashed here . . .

Isn't life delicious?

Something from Ben Stein the Economist . . .

I swear, he's like Isaac Asimov: he doesn't set intellectual limits on himself, and he's ridiculously productive.

Courtesy of Jane Van Ryan of Energy API—my favorite educator on the subject of energy—comes a short interview she conducted with stud/god Stein on how important it is not to demonize the oil and natural gas industries. (There's a transcript of the exchange on the linked page, as well as the podcast itself.)

Money quote:

Recently, there has been a great deal of talk about alternatives, and while they will play a part in supplying future energy, they will only meet a miniscule amount of demand for many years. Oil and natural gas will be the bedrock of our society and all industrialized societies for the foreseeable future.

Our goal should be to increase supplies and stop criticizing those who are bringing it to us.

As we speak, the House Democrats are trying to push a bill through that will increase taxes on the energy industry to punitive levels. Given the need right now to re-invest in R&D and figure out which energy sources might eventually be able to supplant oil and natural gas, this seems incredibly short-sighted. Call your congresscritter, and let him or her know that this isn't the time to undercut the people who are helping us figure out how we're going to function in the future.

If Pelosi wants the punish entities simply for making money, the least she could do is send the confiscated funds to a worthy cause. Like, you know: me.

Seriously: this is a rather stupid idea.

Make the call.

Yesterday,

Professor Purkinje forwent the "political woodie" he says he would have got from making me wait in the car while he went to vote for Obama in the Maryland primaries.

Instead, he ran around the lab in an Obama T-shirt, singing "Oh, Bama, oh oh Bama, oh oh—lookin' for my Obama."

It's possible that he borrowed the melody for that one from the White Boys who started it all.

(Note: no comments about the good professor here. In a way, I envy anyone having any hope or idealism about politics right now. I wish I could vote for Obama and think it would do any good. Say what you like about Obama—it you put my friend down I will hunt you down and drill you full of holes.)

Hangin' with Them Biologist Types

This is Science & Airplane day on my annual D.C./Baltimore trip, and I'm in Professor Purkinje's lovely office surrounded by original artwork and cool furniture, enjoying the the steely-gray Maryland sky visible out of his large windows.

I'm a bit behind on sleep, having stayed up too late last night trying to post pictures to this blog, which sometimes works and sometimes doesn't, due to: 1) the fact that this computer is a bit low on memory; 2) my ineptness in Matters Arithmetical (for when I need to re-size photos "manually" after downloading; had you noticed I almost always download them originally to the wrong dimensions?) and 3) Movable Type's oppression of those who have tiny traces of Dutch in their mostly European ethnic ancestry. I believe I deserve reparations, but have not yet decided whom they might be from.

Home tonight, and back in the office tomorrow. Earning money. It's a beautiful thing, kids.

What I Did Today:

Walked along the river by the Pretty Boy Dam in Maryland, wearing Professor Purkinje's wife's jacket and her long underwear.

Why? Is there something going on in politics that should depress me more than usual? Well—do tell. Send me a link, and I'll take a peek.

Maybe.

An election? What the fuck is that? And why should I care?"

I'll back in Los Angeles late tomorrow night. Let me know if nuclear annihilation is near; okay?

Ah, Yes. But These Are Only Chicks—Not Darkies.

So it's completely different. Ace of Spades:

Britain, which nobly stamped out the scourge of slavery in much of the world, is on the brink of re-instituting it in order to "maintain social cohesion."

Kissing Cousins

I knew my cousin Attila would understand that I was slammed for time this year, and didn't have the time to see him.

Also, what would we have talked about? My antipathy for McCain? I'm even boring myself with that subject these days.

Instead, I had my bi-annual lunch with Mr. Photon Courier, (also of Chicago Boyz). We discussed money, the human condition, and whether homo sapiens are really wired for happiness.

Thanks for the link, Cuz. Next time, for sure; I'm actually trying to get out here in the late summer/early fall. We'll see what happens.

John Hawkins at CPAC

Here he is—Mr. Right Wing News himself—enjoying sushi with a few other CPAC-ers.

A few nights ago I was chatting up my favorite members of Big Oil (more on that later), when Hawkins walked up. The discussion turned to the origin of his Southern drawl, and I turned to the woman I'd been speaking with.

"Make no mistake about it," I told her. "John is a heavy hitter in the blogosphere."

"Wait a minute," he asked me. "Are you telling her that because she asked for guidance, or are you clarifying because I have an accent?"

"The former!" I exclaimed. "And, by the way—must you make everything sound so dirty?"

Variation #572 in the "Joy floozying it up with the Big-Dog Bloggers" series.

I've Been Fox-Lanched!

On an article on Mrs. C.

Apparently, I was considered the voice or reason.

I do not believe my husband was consulted about this implication.

So I Go Up to Mark Steyn,

who is standing there, innocently signing books.

I don't tell him who I am, or explain that I loved America Alone, or that I saw his speech a couple of years ago at the Claremont Institute dinner in Beverly Hills. Or that Kate McMillan would vouch for my work, or that I link to Steyn's articles a lot.

I just walk up out of nowhere and announce that "I'd like a hug, and a picture," handing the camera to one of my Canadian Blog-Mafia friends.

To Steyn's credit, he hugged me, and Roy got the shot just as we were coming out of the hug. "Um, I'm a bit cut off here," I tell Roy. "Mark, would you mind making out with me just one more time?"

After we get the picture I give him my card and tell him why I appreciate the work he's doing, and explain that my favorite Canadian bloggers see a huge backlash starting in Canada over the free speech issue. We have a nice chat. But it starts with Steyn being a good sport. That's a non-trivial issue, no?

Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed

So, several of us went to a screening of the "Director's Cut" of Ben Stein's Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed last night, which takes on the scientific establishment regarding the way any discussion of "intelligent design" (evolution that is guided—and was potentially initially ignited—by some Creator) is being systematically excised from academic debate.

The movie isn't about what a great theory Intelligent Design is, or whether it's simply Creationism in hipper clothing, sporting a nose ring and a leather jacket. The movie is about freedom of speech within Academia, and how important it is to put ideas on the table, and debate their merits, rather than oversimplifying them and then dismissing them out of hand.

It's difficult to predict how good the final product will be: damned good, I suspect. But at present the film is way too long, and some of the historical parallels and cultural allusions are certain to be lost in a way that will drastically re-shape the movie before it is released. This is an excellent work, but the incomplete editing made some parts a bit draggy. I know that problem will be fixed; I'm simply not certain how it will be done, or what various judgement calls will be made.

I have a deal with Concerned Women for America's J. Matt Barber to write a full essay regarding the arguments Stein makes in the film, in exchange for getting his SoCon, Christian-right reading of my favorite book by my favorite athiest, a bitchin' defense of free speech by Jonathan Rauch (Kindly Inquisitors, in case I haven't pimped it lately).

But Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed is compelling because it (1) strikes a blow against intellectual totalitarianism, and (2) features the droll, egghead teddy bear Stein running around in a suit, tie, and tennis shoes, talking to people about academic freedom, the connection between Darwinism in its purest form and (a) eugenics, (b) National Socialism, and (c) the unsavory side of the [essential for women's rights, as I see it] birth-control movement.

Please keep in mind that when the movie is released, opening weekend will make it or break it, so clear your calendar once the date has been set (sometime this spring) and make it important.

Also, Ben Stein—like his "cousin" Mark Steyn—is a total stud/god, and a true renaissance man. I also consider him, because of his column "Ben Stein's Diary" in The American Spectator, to be the first true blogger—a New Media pioneer.

I have his autograph, by the way. He was taping an episode of some show my husband was producing, and I begged the spouse to grab an autograph from him. Stein was prepared to be a good sport about this, but when he discovered that I wanted his autograph because of his writing for TAS rather than his work on Ferris Bueller's Day Off or The Wonder Years, he was visibly thrilled. The autograph, written on the first page of a script for an animated show, says "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" over his signature. It's actually one of my most prized possessions.

"I Want to See John Donovan's Gun Collection,"

I announce to Caltech Girl.

"Cool," she tells me. "A couple of the Western States girl bloggers will be arranging a road trip out there to see both of 'em later on in the year."

"Count me in," I remark, "as long as I can raise the scratch. And I usually can, in a pinch."

So last night Right Girl asks to see my tits.

"What is this?" I ask. "A goddamn biker convention?"

"No, it's just that I haven't seen them in two years."

"They are the same," I explain. "Except that they may be back down to 'D' cups, now that I'm less chunky than I was back then."

"Aw," she wheedles. "Just a peek."

I pull my black tank top to reveal my lacy purple bra.

"Those are my girls!" she smiles happily.

I pull my blouse back down. "Funny. I thought they were mine."

"By the way," she informs me, "now you have an idea what I had to do to see the Donovan gun vault. His wife and I."

"Well, it might be worth it." I'm pondering the situation. "After all, that military memorobilia he has is real. And I hear that it's spectacular."

Did we get pictures last night? Well, I don't rightly recall. The PayPal button is on your left.

Robert Stacy McCain

. . . was sitting next to me on Bloggers' Row at CPAC yesterday.

"Okay, Attila Girl," he tells me. "I want to send you something. What's your email address?"

"Well," I respond, "it's 'miss-dot-attila . . . "

"Don't give me that shit," he interrupts. "I want the real one."

He's sharp, for a guy who cannot modulate his voice to save his life.

"They Wanted to Send Me to CPAC . . ."

I said, "no, no, no."

Yet, here I am, courtesy of my loyal—and generous—readers.

Apologies, natch, to Amy Winehouse. (Warning: the music starts on her [linked] homepage without being asked to; let the web surfer beware!)

Desert Cat

. . . on our current electoral predicament:

John McCain gives a speech and everybody starts getting their erections back?

Well. That would be a "no."

Who Penned This?

I came across a partial printout from September or October of 9/11, from a column addressed to the 9/11 attackers: "You have no idea what you have started, here. But you are about to find out."

Anyone have time to track down who wrote it? I had this on the door to my office at Condé Nast in late 2001 and early 2002, but I'm having trouble remembering who it was who actually wrote it.

The Blogger of the Year Title

. . . has been passed along from N.Z. Bear to the Ace of Spades. During Robert Bluey's introduction, Ace sat with his face in his hands, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else but in a group of his fellow homo sapiens. Bluey's introduction referred to Ace's distinctive verbal style, and referenced Hackbarth's description of Ace as "the Kurt Cobain of the blogosphere." (When I first heard that, I asked who, exactly, our Courtney Love might be. "I dunno," he told me. "Maybe Allahpundit?")

I was sitting next to James Joyner during the presentation. When Bluey remarked that that "some blogs have made larger contributions than others," I hissed angrily "not true!" (Speaking of which, why is Ace getting the award, rather than me? There is such prejudice against blogs that do not actually get read.)

When it came time to speak, however, AoS gave a rather thoughtful set of remarks on the why New Media is an important part of policy making, and drew a straight line between the history of policy debate in a town-hall setting and the Reagan Revolution, which rejected the notion—now so prevalent in Europe and elsewhere—that the political class can consider itself our "betters," and simply make policy decisions on our behalf.

We have, he reminded us, not simply an opportunity to inform ourselves about politics, but a "duty" to do so. Naturally, alternative streams of information will play a large role in that process.

Ace to the political establishment: "we're the New Media, and we're here to help you."

UPDATE: More from Hawkins; a mention on Newsbusters. Karl at Stud/God of the Cerebrasphere Jeff Goldstein's site, Protein Wisdom, weighs in on the critical Allahpundit-as-Courtney issue.

UPDATE II The link to Protein Wisdom has been fixed, as a way of hinting to the ACU that Goldstein might just be next in line, depending on whether he actually posts a bit over the next year. Besides, he has better arms than Ace, and a bitchin' tattoo.

Lunch with David Foster

After the Blogger of the Year Award, I had lunch with David Foster of Photon Courier and Chicago Boyz.

David's good on management issues. Actually, so am I—mostly because I've worked at a lot of badly run companies. But what David is also good at—and I am not—is making money, and holding onto it. So we talk a lot about my ideas for starting new businesses. As with others I've spoken to, he thinks I should go with The Really Scary Idea, rather than the Only Moderately Scary Idea. He has the right to be wrong, just like all the others.

And I, of course, have the right to be a rank coward.

Washington, D.C. Notebook

Poor McCain can't get a break—Stacy McCain, that is. He and Matt Vadum hosted the social event of the season last night, a "VIP-only" reception in a hotel near CPAC.

The noise levels led to security emptying out the suite Stacy and Matt had rented for the night, so a number of us ended up at the hotel's bar. Over the course of the next few hours, people migrated in ones and twos back up to the suite, and spoke in hushed whispers; security patrolled the hall, ready to bust the party up if there were any more noise complaints. But the beers were free (as opposed to the situation at the hotel bar, wherein it was an accomplishment simply to get served by the overwhelmed staff).

As was not uncommon at a Stacy-promoted event, the place was crawling with young people.

There was tremendous temptation to simply sit on the sidelines and observe the changes that came over people after drinks number 4, 5, and 6. And yet when I was there I introduced myself to people, trading cards when the situation demanded it and talking about everything from Bible translations to how one might bring about a resurgence in interest in old right-wing talk radio and television hell-raisers.

And then it was time to leave; I came back here to my own hotel and downloaded the pictures, which look like they may have tremendous value as blackmail material.

But despite all the effort, we were unable to achieve the level of debauchery Stephen Glass once envisioned. A bittersweet thing, that.

And In the End . . .

In the wake of the Romney withdrawal . . . um, suspension . . . there are a lot of depressed-looking people wandering around.

Joyner thinks the GOP still has a chance of winning the election. He also thinks that it'll make a difference, for the obvious reason—the only possible reason: McCain will prosecute the War on Terror for more-than-aesthetic/political reasons. Because the things McCain believes, he actually believes. As opposed to the case with Mrs. C.

I hear that argument a lot. Some of the time I find it seductive. But not today. Today, I simply mourn.

And I don't know what to do: I have a deep sentimental attachment to the Bill of Rights, and I don't think John McCain shares my feelings, there.

More on Saturday, after I infiltrate a group of Johnny Mac's supporters tomorrow to find out why they really like this guy whom I may or may not find marginally acceptable.

As I told Attila the Hub today, I'm done waiting for people to "come to their senses." There has to be work that one can do—beyond blogging—to bring them to their senses.

I talked to Mark Steyn very briefly earlier, and he remarked that the success of the McCain candidacy is "ominous."

I think it is. But there has to be a way to get the word out about some of the issues that are at stake right now, beyond the security issues that get the "airplay."

And So It Begins

I arrived here yesterday morning on the red-eye, checked in, and slept for several hours before meeting up with John Hawkins of Right Wing News, Bettina Inclan from the House Republicans Policy Committee, and Sean Hackbarth of The American Mind.

We went out for a lovely Ash Wednesday meal at a local sushi place (fish for the normal people who eat seafood; vegetable tempura and edamame for me).

Bettina is working with some of the House people on how to reach out better to New Media (that is to say, bloggers, podcasters, vid-bloggers, etc.). It's nice to hear that the subject is being taken seriously, although neither of our best ideas seem like they're going to fly with Bettina's Legislative Overlords.

Best Idea #1 (John Hawkins): Post lots of pictures of women in lingerie. (Modified by Joy: balance this out every now and then with beefcake. Preferably pictures of firefighters wearing red suspenders, and members of the U.S.M.C. in tank tops.)

Best Idea #2 (Joy McCann): Ditch the boring blog, and start a whole new one called "CongressCritters." Because that's what the rest of us call 'em anyway, behind their backs.

"Won't happen," she told us. "They want to be hip, but not . . . not that hip."

What a shame, I remark. "And here I thought I could bring our legislators over to the Dark Side of online prurience."

UPDATE: Hawkins tells me the sake is interfering with my memory, and the "post beefcake and cheesecake" joke was all my very own.

Beyond the jokes, however, we did have some concrete suggestions for Bettina. I sent her an extensive email the next day that had what I thought were sound suggestions. Anyone who would like to enhance cogressional outreach to New Media should feel free to send them to me, and I'll see that they are forwarded.

Sorry, John!

Come On, Big Town.

I'm here in D.C. (Not Desert Cat; not David Coons. The nation's freakin' capital.)

The CPAC bloggers are starting to arrive tonight. A couple of us feel that violence can be avoided if we don't hear any of the following words over the next four days:

1) President;
2) delegates;
3) Republicans;
4) Democrats;
5) Election;
6) Maverick.

Of course, I haven't placed any bets on that, myself.

Remember O My New Media Brethren, to practice safe senseless mayhem: do not get caught. Or, if you do get caught, don't ask me to bail you out. I'm way afraid of the cops out here. And I'm broke.

Okay. I Voted.

It wasn't as bad as I'd feared. Of course, I took the precaution of shooting up beforehand; that helped.

Listen, Kids.

Until or unless we have some kind of real evidence—something other than horrific allegations—McCain's service in Vietnam is off the table. Off the fucking table.

I'm not voting for him. But some things are below low.

Vote McCain

. . . Because He Won't Come in Your Mouth.

More here, from your friendly neighborhood "morons."

My favorites?—

ZombieReagan'08—Death is no excuse.

—toby928

and

McCain 08!*

*violation of federal law to have this bumpersticker on your car within 60 days of the election.

—by Sort-of-Mad Max

as well as

KY Jelly '08—You're Gonna Need It!

—eman

and

Tired of settling for the lesser evil? Cthulhu/Nyarlathotep '08.

—BK Willis

Tomorrow's super-duper Tuesday. So off I go to do my duty, joylessly.

Well . . . you know what I mean.

"The Other McCain"

Stacy has a nice clip up of Tammy Bruce making mincemeat out of Bob Beckel.

I think Tammy may be out of the closet now . . . as a conservative. I know, I know: she didn't leave the Democratic Party. As with so many people before her, it was the Party that moved.

Did I ever tell y'all about the day Tammy bought me breakfast? It was perfectly innocent, I assure you. Unfortunately.

Speaking of Matters Most Superficial: I have mixed emotions about those glasses The Tamster is wearing. I think I may prefer the glamour-doll Tammy over the bespectacled one. But I myself prefer to wear glasses (not that I have beauty to spare . . . I'm probably simply hiding).

And Tammy's glasses do lend a certain nerdy charm. Hard to pick. Fortunately, I'm married, and largely straight . . . so I guess it ain't my call.

With Tammy, of course, it doesn't matter whether or not she telegraphs her intellect in advance: she always wins. And she does it honestly, without resorting to the trick that various media whores (male and female!) employ.

Did I say media whores? I meant, Fourth Estate prostitutes.

Today's Quote

Men don't pay for sex. We pay so y'all will leave afterward.

—IRA Darth Aggie

It just sounds so logical and reasonable when you explain it like that . . .

Full disclosure: I changed "afterwards" to "afterward." I feel that this is within my purview—not because I have to actually style quotes in this space, but because the "afterwards" really, really bugged me.

"Fool Me Once, Shame on You . . ."

I really hope Mrs. Clinton is menopausal. 'Cause if the crying thing is happening on purpose, it's just not working, and she should know better.

Yeah, yeah: everyone's going to get mad at me for saying the "m" word. Given the severe reality of my "peri-m" experiences, I'd say I'm damn well entitled.

By the way—my pledge drive is still running! Send me money for CPAC, or I'll cry!

Conversations with . . .

what are we calling them these day?—oh, yes: males.

(1) Conservative guy calls me. "Yeah, fine," I tell him. "Meet the other bloggers and me for a drink on Friday or Saturday night. If you haven't gone back to bed at that point, with a bottle of cheap booze."

"The place in the lobby, the one across the street, or the pub that's catty-corner to the hotel?" he asks.

"God knows," I tell him. "Ask the boys at RedState. I'm just concentrating on not slashing my wrists—one day at a time."

"Oh, yes," he remarks. "That little McCain problem. Do you think Stephen Glass was prescient?"

"Downright psychic," I reply. "He should get hired back at New Republic. Just a bit ahead of his time. It'll be ugly this year."

"Should the bartenders and pub-owners start arming themselves?" he asks.

"Fuck, yeah," I reply. "In the short term, they need to start stashing Louisville Sluggers behind the bars. Long-term, things are looking good for our beloved Second Amendment; the Cons will be on the prowl this year."

(2) Liberal guy meets me at the Italian place near the old mall Santa Monica Promenade for a plate of pasta and a walk.

"I've been accused of being hostile," I tell him.

"Your blog is hostile," he reminds me.

"Just toward John McCain! And other people like that."

"What? Men?" He's joking. Sort of.

He decides we should see a movie, and I'm on-board because my lack of media exposure makes me well-nigh unemployable in L.A.

But we squabble over the fact that George-fucking-Clooney is the star of the show, and give each other the silent treatment afterward, on the way back to our cars, for no discernable reason.

"I took my blog down," he remarks.

"Fine," I tell him. "It was only a matter of time."

"How many glasses of wine did you have with dinner?" he enquires.

"Not many," I respond. "Circa three."

"You're tipsy," he informs me.

"Fine," I respond. "When was the last time you decided you had to fucking pay for fucking sex?

This is all cool, though: if we squabble, he doesn't have to rag on his sisters. And I, in turn, don't have to take it all out on my brother. Or my father. So all is well.

Wait—if I sound like a man-hater, there is a perfectly good reason for that . . . and someday, I'll blog about it. Or post my brother's pay stub. Or something.

A Reply to The Anchoress:

How is blind loyalty to a party any better than blind loyalty to an ideology? Can't a person make the party an idol just as easily as one can a philosophical leaning?

I'd really like to know.

The only possible advantages I see to McCain over Hillary have to do with (1) national defense; (2) the vague potential of him maybe appointing constructionist judges, and (3) theoretically less damage to the economy.

But once you've taken away free speech, anything can happen. I'm just not excited about the idea of voting for "Mr. Ball Gag." Why should I be? Is this the election that turns on S&M?

The fact is, Ann Coulter—bless her media-whoring little heart—has a freaking point. And the fact that she's expressing it in as exaggerated a manner as usual (yeah—she'll "campaign" for Hillary, all right) does not mean she isn't essentially correct: how do we know McCain is less-bad than Hillary? We're supposed to, um, trust him? Are you fucking kidding me?

I'm considering writing in my mother's dog for President this year, because Mandy would tear the Islamists limb from limb in a methodical, spirited fashion. With her strong, strong teeth. No emotion involved whatsoever: just doing her job.

The fact is, women are more brutal than men in the final analysis. I caught a glimpse of this once when some incompetent pharmacist delayed filling a prescription for my husband, who was recovering from oral surgery. I lowered my voice, explained what she needed to do, and watched her do it. My husband was in the car, and he needed this medicaton. I would have filleted her cheerfully on the spot if the process had taken 20 minutes longer. Nothing personal about it. Not at all.

While McCain's writing his hands about interrogation techniques, and agonizing about how wicked money is, people could very well die.

Talk to me, Johnny Mac. Convince me. 'Cause you sure haven't, so far.

Happy Birthday, Jeff G!

He is (1) a year older than he was around this time in '07;

(2) a badass;

(3) healthy;

(4) married to a gorgeous woman;

(5) about to start posting a lot on his blog. (Yes: like Fox Mulder, I want to believe.)

Yeah. I Know I Haven't Said Anything About the Bombings Today.

It does seem like AQ and their affiliates are getting a bit desperate.

Glenn talks about the silver lining in this darkest of clouds, and remarks that "good suicide-bombers are hard to find, and retention is even tougher."

They should unionize!

I'd Just Like to Get One Announcement Out of the Way

Actually, a few of them:

1) There isn't anything going on between RightGirl and me;

2) If there were, it wouldn't be a lesbian thing, or somehow un-conservative;

3) And we wouldn't necessarily get it on video;

4) Or if we did get it on video, it wouldn't necessarily be reasonably priced.

But keep hitting our tips jars; the odds are better than they are for the state lotteries, after all. And what do you have to lose, other than the price of a lunch/drink at CPAC?

Would I Bust Another Girl's Balls?

Well, maybe.

Please send us money, because RightGirl and I will not be posting risque pictures of ourselves if we don't get some scratch.*

Remember: the Little Miss Attila CPAC pledge drive goes on through the 9th of February!

*Actually, we won't be doing that anyway. But we'd like you to hit our PayPal buttons and pretend.