Cake Eater Chronicles

Not really, but close enough.

Not really, but close enough. What's the deal with it being midnight?
What's the importance? you ask. Well, at midnight the date rolls over
to July 29, 2004, which just happens to be the husband's birthday. The
husband is referenced in everyday, non-blogging, life as Michael. Or
Mike, as I like to call him. He would be the member of the phylla
Geekus Extraordinarius, the former Star Wars Galaxies player, the guru
behind the tweaking of this site's template and fixer of all that goes
wrong with Wee Bastard, and also happens to be the man whom I abuse on
a regular basis here on the blog. Fortunately for me, he's a good sport
and puts up with it. If anyone deserves to have a happy birthday, it's
him. So, anyway...Happy 34th, love. I hope this year is the one where
all your dreams come true.

Considering we live in a

Considering we live in a major metropolitan area, it should be
surprising that we had two run-ins with the local wildlife. But it's
not. We live near to two different marshes (read mosquito-breeding
grounds) and as a result, it's not a completely strange thing to have a
duck waddling through the yard.
It is, however, strange to have newly-hatched baby ducks up on the roof
of the garage.
To explain: the house backs onto an alleyway, so there's no backyard to
speak of, but as the roof of the garage is flat and has a doorway
leading directly to it, in the past, we used that as our deck. We don't
anymore because the Great White Hunter landlord refuses to authorize
Tweedledumb the funds to fix it. It's sagging and it needs to be
repaired, but because GWH would rather go on safari than provide his
tenants with a garage roof that's not about to cave-in, it hasn't been
fixed. The husband refuses to let anyone out there. He says it's not
safe to walk on. So, for the past, oh, what is it now, two years, our
deck has been off-limits. It's also filthy: we haven't cleaned off the
leaves and other detritus, including a whole heck of a lot of roofing
materials the cheapo roofers conveniently left behind, and neither has
Tweedledumb. But it's not filthy to the ducks, though. Apparently, the
leaves provide a pretty good spot to lay some eggs. Saturday morning,
I'm frying bacon for breakfast and trying not to burn myself with the
occasional splatters of grease, and I heard the oddest sound. Some sort
of chirping. Even in my early-morning addled state, I know this doesn't
compute. I know the bacon isn't giving off enough grease that it would
suddenly be chirping. Bacon hisses. It sizzles. It doesn't chirp.
Walking away from the stove, I go to the window on the opposite end of
the kitchen, and before I get there my sister says, "What's that
sound?" I reply that I don't know, but as soon as I look out the window
at our blighted side-yard (another thing that's wrong with this place:
GWH is too cheap to pay for sod---or even grass seed, so the side yard
resembles the exercise yard at Shawshank Prison)I see what the problem
is. There's a mama duck, squawking at her hatchlings from the yard. The
hatchlings, however, are on the roof of the garage, one floor up from
mom, trying to figure out how to get down to her.
Duckies
I run for the camera. My sister calls for the kids. The bacon keeps
frying in the background. Everyone is enthralled with the cute little
duckies until we realize that there's no way Mom is planning on flying
to the roof and the babies can't get down to her just yet. We worry. My
nephew has the bright idea of taking them downstairs and is about ready
to leap to the rescue when his mother stops him with a warning: if we
touch them, the mom might not want to have anything to do with them.
The mother is clearly getting annoyed. We empathize with the ducklings:
they're getting chewed out for their mother's stupidity for flying onto
a roof to lay her eggs. We wonder what we should do.
The husband then intervenes. He goes out onto the roof, fights to scoop
them into a small box, and just manages. By this time, mama duck has
about had it and is working her way round to the front of the house and
over to the marsh. The husband runs to catch up with her and opens the
box onto the lawn where the ducky family is reunited. He'd been very
careful about how much he touched them and apparently all was fine. Mom
didn't reject her human hand-tainted babies and they made their way
over to the marsh without incident. Only problem is that one egg didn't
hatch. It's still up on the garage and we keep forgetting to take care
of it. I hope it hasn't started rotting yet. Yuck.

Truthful street signs. As opposed

Truthful street signs. As opposed to the ones that lie to us on a daily basis.

Someone needs to contact the

Someone needs to contact the local chapter of the Eugenics Union and tell them to revoke this guy's membership.

Honestly. Should this guy be allowed to reproduce?

I think not.

I am back.  Omaha was

I am back.  Omaha was good.  The fam was
good.   The beer was especially good.  I would
swear that the only time I ever drink beer is when I go to Omaha. 
And 311 on Friday night was memorable.  I was there, dude!
 
Currently, however, I'm swilling Chardonnay and staring at
this newfangled Blogger post page and wondering what the @#$k is going
on with Blogger.   
Oh, they fix one thing and suddenly they have to get all
proactive?  What the hell is the matter with these people? 
Don't they know that we don't want them to change anything because
anyone who uses Blogspot is a technological idiot.  The reason
we're on Blogspot is because Moveable Type scares the hell out of
us.  We're dumb and easily frightened.   Don't they know this??? 
 
Although, I must admit, I like this new business with the control-i for
italics.  Just like Microsquash Word.  This way, I now won't
come across HTML tags in the manuscript.   Because you know
I'm easily confused that way.
 
Hmmmm.   I don't know how this will work out, but if past
experience is any indicator, give me twenty-four hours and I'll be
fully behind these new changes.
 
Anyway, the husband tricked out wee bastard over the weekend and---from
what I can tell so far---it's sweet.  Hasn't crashed yet. 
Woohoo.  Which is exciting.  I thought we were back to that
horrible Era of the Arabic Enabled Windows 98.  Blogging will
resume tomorrow, once I actually have a chance to read the news and
find some Silly German stories and the usual assorted lot of crap that
goes up on this blog in place of quality content. 

Man, it's a banner day

Man, it's a banner day here at the Cake Eater Chronicles! Three Silly German stories.

Here's a tip: when in windy places, disconnect yourself from your windsurfing board ASAP.

You never know where you might wind up.

Sticks and stones may break

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me...

Er, unless you're a blonde and then your thought processes slow down dramatically.

God. I just love what the German Government spends it's tax dollars on, don't you?

"Should I stay or should

"Should I stay or should I go?"
If I were a Jew in France, you'd bet I'd be on a plane, too.

...Cats are evil.

...Cats are evil.

Well, only if you'd consider

Well, only if you'd consider ground squirrels to be worthy of
victimhood status.
Which I don't. While the kiddies were napping on Sunday afternoon, my
sister and I went to the local needlework store. She's recently taken
up knitting and wanted some fat needles with which to knit a hat. We go
and come home. Enter the house and all is well. No hassles. This
morning, however, when we're downstairs, seeing them off, my nephew,
Colin, decides to shout, "Aunt Kathy! Look! You ran over a chipmunk! COOL!"
But it wasn't a chipmunk that was flattened by the right-front tire of
the car: it was a ground squirrel. Poor little guy. He was positioned
in such a way under the tire that he would have made a lovely fireside
rug for one of the Little People---you know should the Little People
employ taxidermists. Flat. As. A. Pancake. Arms outstretched. Eyes
bugging. And I didn't even notice. No telltale bump. No ground squirrel
screams of agony. No nothing. Christi, my sister, didn't even notice
and she was on the passenger side of the car. Now that I think about
it, I proabably ran the little guy over twice,
because my sister's minivan was crowding the parking area and I had to
maneuver to get into the spot. Do I feel guilty that I squished one of
God's little creatures with a Grand Marquis? Nope. It's payback time,
baby. One of those damn things scared the life out of me a few weeks
back. I was taking trash down to the garage, one had weaseled his way
into the garage to hide in the woodpile, which they love
to do. It was dark. I saw motion out of the corner of my eye, and
thinking it was a mouse or something of the sort, squealed. Wimpy, I
know. But when it comes to rodents, flying or creeping, I'm a
girly-girl. I squeak and head for high ground while calling for the
husband to come and deal with it! But he wasn't home this time.
I had to rely upon myself. So, taking a deep breath and trying not to
freak out more than I already had, I turned on the light, and then
opened up the garage door. Once the situation was illuminated, I saw it
was a harmless little ground squirrel and afforded him the means to
make a run for it by leaving the garage door open until he was out.
All's well that ends well, right?
Nope. I squealed like a stuck pig and if there was ever an undignified
action, it's that. I hate that. I can't help myself, though. So, of course, it's not my fault: it's the squirrel's. He made me squeal: hence he had it coming. It was just a matter of time until the playing field was leveled.

Yeah. Mmmmhmmm. That's it.

All this guy wants is

All this guy wants is to meet women.

Tonight, I was watching Anderson

Tonight, I was watching Anderson Cooper, as usual, whilst munching on
some delectable hamburgers the husband fixed for dinner. Much rambling
on about the Convention was going on, and as I was absorbed in eating
my accompanying potato chips, I wasn't paying too much attention.
This bit, however, turned my head in a Linda Blair sort of way.

COOPER: And welcome back. As we have seen here this week, the Democrats are making a big show of unity, celebrating togetherness, trying to project an optimistic view of the future. But some days the reality of the outside world intrudes. Today is one of those days. In Iraq, terrible violence. Four Americans killed, more than 100 Iraqis, including nearly 70, in this single sickening car bombing in Baqubah, one bomb, 70 lives. Those odds aren't good. Iraq, however, is not a word you hear mentioned much here in Boston. Case in point, Howard Dean, the man who led the charge criticizing the war during the primaries, last night, he never said the I-word in his speech. Iraq, not once. In fact, over the last two days, in 108 speeches overall, the word "Iraq" was uttered in only about 13 of them. We'll see if that changes tonight, when John Edwards addresses the gathering, and tomorrow when John Kerry does as well.

Holy Christ! Nearly SEVENTY people die---including four Americans---over sixty are wounded and Anderson uses it as a freakin' segue to the ongoing debate of whether the Dems will harp on about Iraq or not. Niiiiice. Anderson, who supposedly reads all his emails, will be getting one from me about this.

...doesn't DC have one of

...doesn't DC have one of the highest crime rates in the country?
Aren't the police and all the city officials consistently saying they
don't have enough money to run an effective police force, blah, blah,
blah ad nauseam ad infinitum?
And yet they've got the manpower to arrest people for eating candy bars in the Metro?

Hmmph.

Thank you, Pakistan.

Thank you, Pakistan.

Mohammed at Iraq the Model

Mohammed at Iraq the Model response to the suicide bombing in Iraq today (hat tip: Martini Boy)

What hurts more than this daily terror is the soft way the world is using to deal with the situation. I believe that the presence of this terror is just a matter of time, as hatred and deception can’t last forever, but the reactions of some parts provide it with the support it needs and give it a second chance. Yes, all we need is the will and determination to crush a company that is so close to bankruptcy but the disgraceful doings of some parts postpone it once again, like what Spain, Manilla and Egypt lately did. What’s even worse and disgusting is that these governments smugly come and ask the admirably determined nation Australia to apologize while it’s them who must apologize to the whole world for their awful mistakes that encouraged terrorists and reassured them that their criminal tactics can work. These countries have found excuses for terror and gave the terrorists the motives to carry on with their plans as long as these plans can make "sovereign countries" yield in front of a true criminal action. They’re cooperating with the criminals and they make it easier for terrorists to increase their activities in Iraq and elsewhere. This is the goal of terror and this is what these countries offered the terrorists on a gold plate. They’ve said clearly "do more of your work, as it will definitely bring an outcome that satisfy your sickness and illusions".

This will undoubtedly be the most linked piece in the blogosphere today, but go and read the whole thing. It's important.

Well, I fixed it. No

Well, I fixed it. No thanks to anyone from Blogger Support, those lame,
worthless bunch of lackeys who couldn't even bother to---ahem--- answer an email within a twenty-four hour period.
The new graphical interface posting window has been inserting all sorts
of extra code into posts. Apparently, on the post related to Andrew
Gilligan there was something odd in the code that set the whole damn
thing off. I have no idea what it was, but the post has been deleted
and will not reappear lest it gives me crap again. So, what to do?
Well, I'll be sticking with Blogger for the time being, as there is an
option where I can simply write in the old-fashioned straight-up HTML
window and life should be fine. Gawd, what a runaround for very
freakin' little.

Okaaaaaaay. Let's see if this

Okaaaaaaay.
Let's see if this works without messing up the works.

...that the Pious Agnostic has

...that the Pious Agnostic has called Round Two for Lizzie.
I'm dancing like Deion Sanders right now.

For this post and this

For this post and this post only. Feel free to skip on by if you so choose.

Am I the only one who couldn't honestly care less about what's happening at the Democratic National Convention?

Anyway, a few observations:

1. Theresa Heinz Kerry is no lady. I read a bit of Kevin Drum's commentary on the whole "shove it" episode and then read some of his commenter's opinions. (Hat Tip: Vodkapundit) One in particular stuck out like a sore thumb.

Yeah, I have to admit, I've never understood the appeal of Laura Bush. She gives out a seriously strong "plastic robot" vibe. I'm sure she's a wonderful person and all (and certainly she's been given credit for stopping Georgie's public drunkenness), but... eurgh.

A plastic robot vibe? Keeping your nose out of your husband's business, and I mean BUSINESS,
does not mean one is a "plastic robot." It simply means one has the
good sense to know what is your business and what isn't. If Theresa
Heinz Kerry wants to run for President, fine, go for it, provided she
can get the Constitution amended. I have no issues with that. But don't
defend a foul-mouthed woman by comparing her to a woman who chooses not
to polarize the populace with her actions.
,
Yeah. Like I'm one to call someone "foul-mouthed." I know I don't have
a leg to stand on, but the woman is deluded. She said the words,
"un-American traits." A reporter, whom her spokeswoman claimed worked
for a "right-wing rag" asked for clarification on that phrase, she
claimed she'd never said it and then told him to shove it. Who's in the
right here and who's in the wrong? Who's pushing the agenda? Not the
reporter, that's for sure. She should apologize. Furthermore, she
should know her place. Yes, I too, hate that phrase, but it fits. Sue
me. Her place is as potential First Lady, not as policy wonk or
official mouthpiece of the Kerry campaign. She's there to wave, be
pretty and do whatever it is wives do on the campaign trail. If she
didn't know that going in and now wants her share of the spotlight,
well, that's just tough, isn't it? Ultimately, all of this is comes
down to the current conundrum that revolves around "the office" of
First Lady. Just because women have different roles nowadays, and can
bring the proverbial bacon home and then fry it up in pan doesn't mean
that two hundred plus years of tradition gets thrown out with the
bathwater. It just doesn't. If you want a position within the
government well, get yourself elected or appointed. But don't think you
have a say in what goes on, or that your opinion matters just because
of whom you're married to. The world just doesn't work that way.
Eleanor Roosevelt only made her contributions because her husband
wanted her to---and allowed her to---not because she had any political
standing, and the goodwill that comes with standing, as First Lady.
Hillary Clinton is a senator now. Good for her. But it doesn't excuse
her virtual coup d'etat with her health care commission when she was
First Lady. Hillary put herself between the rock and the hard place
there. She ignored tradition. She ignored that she was there to support
her husband, and that in itself can be a full-time job. She wanted
changes, however, and she got herself elected. Good for her. But she
should not be considered the role model of what a First Lady should
ever be. She is an anomaly. Laura Bush is a wife. Wife, by its current
usage, is not a limiting label, but first and foremost, in my opinion,
it means you're one half of a partnership; you're one half of a team
who wants to work for a goal. Most of us don't have ambitions as lofty
as the White House; most of us just want to live and raise a family and
for that we would like, and need, a partner. The Bushes are different,
and I have no doubts that President Bush would support his wife in
whatever she wanted to do, just like she's supporting him in what he
sees is the path he should follow. Can you honestly say the same of
Theresa Heinz Kerry? To me, she shows all the hallmarks of a woman who
thinks she got the better end of a quid pro quo marriage. There is a
difference.
The problem with the Democratic acceptance, and trumpeting, of her
remarks is that she will now be encouraged to get mouthy. Perhaps
"problem" is the wrong word. I don't see it as a problem. If the
Democrats want to put this woman forward, fine. Let her hang herself
and the entire Kerry campaign by echoing Hillary's behavior. Not a
problem for me. I just don't want to listen to it, and I don't want my
fellow sorority sister (Yes, Mrs. Bush and I are members of the same
sorority. Same with Lynne Cheney. And Nancy Kassebaum Baker. And Ann
Margret, too.) being bashed because of what this woman says. It's not
fair.
2. Have I mentioned that I don't care anything about this convention
and am completely bored by it?
3. Wonkette has a commenting
job on MTV. Whoop-de-freaking-doo. Anderson Cooper interviewed her last
night and I kept shouting, "Ass F@#$ing! Ass F@#$ing! C'mon! SAY IT,
Beeeyotch! Show us what you're REALLY famous for in the blogosphere!"
at the television. She never obliged me. Reportedly she has class now
that she's the senior commentator for MTV News. Whoo. Color me
impressed!
4. Andrew Sullivan had
better just endorse Kerry or risk lynching by all of the people who
have supported him over the past couple of years for his hawkish views.
Memo to Andrew: You're abandoning your hawkish audience by even
thinking that Kerry is a decent alternative. But that's your choice.
Fine, but GET IT OVER WITH, ANDREW. Just endorse the guy already. I
don't have an issue with it. I don't mind that you write for different
audiences, either. What I do have a problem with is guilting us into
giving you money while keeping us on the hook. You led us to believe
you held one thing above all others. Now you don't. Clarification is
needed. I would simply ask that, if you're actually going to endorse
Kerry, do it before your pledge drive is over with, please? People who
have supported you enthusiastically over the years have a right to know
where you stand before you write something that will make them quit
your blog. This pledge drive smacks of a short con. If Sunday's Times
op-ed is any indication, it appears you're going to endorse Kerry for
Prez. Then the very next morning, what should await us at the Dish but
a pledge drive? This doesn't appear to be a coincidence. Don't milk it
for all its worth before you pull the rug out from under a good portion
of your readership. It's dishonest and downright BBC-ish.
Ok, I feel better now. The ELECTION-FREE ZONE RULE is now
back in place.

I was in the mood

I was in the mood for an espionage flick the other night and, not
seeing anything that tripped my trigger in the new releases section,
went browsing and ultimately wound up picking out Enigma.
I've seen this movie a few times and I should just buy it, because I
will keep on renting it. Based on the Robert Harris novel of the same
name, the story revolves around a brilliant, but fresh off a nervous
breakdown, mathematician named Tom Jericho. Jericho, disgraced in an
era where mental illness didn't purportedly exist, has nonetheless been
pulled back into Bletchley Park. The reason for Jericho's reappearance?
The German U-Boats have gone completely off-line: they've switched
codebooks and blocked the Brit codebreakers out---right before a large
convoy of ships from America, bearing Allied war material, hits the
mid-Atlantic, out of reach of air support and rescuing. It's essential
that Shark, the U-boat code, is cracked, but it seems an impossible
task to accomplish in the few short days offered.
Add into this, the woman Jericho had been seeing before his breakdown,
has disappeared. Quickly he discovers, with the help of her best
friend, that her disappearance and the abrupt lock-out of Shark are
intertwined. I simply have no idea, when we get so much absolute crap
out of Hollywood, how this film was overlooked. It's wonderful. It was
written by Tom Stoppard, who I believe is our modern-day Shakespeare,
and whose screenplay actually makes the movie better than the book. I
read Harris novel quite some time ago, but it failed to make a lasting
impression on me, mainly because of his convoluted explanations of what
an Enigma machine actually did, and how much goddamn math was involved
to break it. The movie, however, is much, much better and a must-see
for anyone interested in what's involved in code-breaking, let alone
anyone who, like myself, is a spy-movie junkie.
The performances, wonderful to start out with, yet somehow manage to
improve with multiple viewings. In particular Jeremy Northam's smarmy
spy-catcher, Wigram. The character is just so damn snotty and superior
you can't help but be absorbed in watching all of the various maneuvers
Northam makes to bring this man to life---because, honestly and truly,
you don't notice them the first time around: you're too busy wondering
what his game is. On second viewing, however, the words, while
important, lose some of their hold on you. You start to notice the
little things that Northam did to make this man come to life, like the
way he walks with absolute confidence, as if he's a man in control of
his environment and faculties. The coat worn draped over the shoulders,
which no one but the most confident of men can ever get away with. The
gleeful twitchiness that comes over him, which he doesn't bother to
restrain, when he interrogates Jericho. It's truly one of the
overlooked performances of the decade because of its subtlety. If this
movie had come out around Christmas time, I'd wager that Northam would
be propping open his back door with an Oscar right about now. So,
anyway, longwinded as usual, but go and rent this. It's well worth two
hours of your time.

Ok, so between errands and

Ok, so between errands and Wee Bastard's inconvenient tendency of late
to keep !@#$@ing crashing on me, I'm a wee bit late getting these
posted.
You can find round one here and round two here.

Here's Robert's Bonus Round Entry:

One of my college English professors had such a deep-seated dislike of the Regency class system in general and Emma Woodhouse in particular that she felt the only characters worthy of any sympathy in Emma were the gypsies who attacked Harriet. While I do not suspect Kathleen of such Jacobin leanings, my answer to her lingering resentment towards Emma the rich girl is the same as I gave the prof: Had Austen meant the book to be a morality tale about the evils of excessive, unearned wealth, she would have written it from a different perspective with a different ending and made Emma far less sympathetic – indeed, she’d be just another Catherine De Bourgh. As for Kathy’s doubts about Emma’s maturation, on what are they based? Surely Emma’s changing attitudes towards Martin, which bookend the story, symbolize her growth. What of Emma’s apology to Miss Bates after Box Hill? Her meeting of minds with Jane Fairfax? Her refusal to abandon her father upon marriage? As for Harriet’s engagement, Emma’s relief comes not from being “let off the hook” about encouraging Harriet to go for Knightly. (In fact, Emma had mistakenly thought Harriet interested in Frank Churchill.) Instead, it is based on Emma’s awakening to her own love for Knightly whom, by the way, it is very unlikely Austen meant to doom to life with an unrepentant flake. No, in the end Emma grows up. The lessons are finally taken to heart. Our delight and satisfaction come from watching this happen.

And here's mine:

Robert is right when he says Emma is a study in character development. I fail to see, however, where there is much character in Miss Woodhouse to develop. Ultimately, as the audience, we find ourselves rooting for Emma to overcome obstacles which she herself has placed in her way. I find very little satisfaction in stupidity as a plot device. This, however, is not the case with Pride and Prejudice. While both novels were written by Austen, her divergent approach to her protagonists produced vastly different results. Emma is a passive read. You root for Emma because you have to, not because you want to: her sole purpose is to entertain you, as if she were a street performer. Pride and Prejudice, however, engages you in Lizzie’s struggle. Her conflicts are outside herself, yet they are clear and delineated in such a way that you may imagine about how much is riding on her actions. The novel that sets an imagination to work is also the novel that challenges the reader to become involved. Pride and Prejudice is that novel. It is an active story: it brings you into its folds; it involves you in a way that Emma doesn’t and as a result, is the superior novel.

Stanley Crouch once said that reading is an active engagement; an author must make their reader want to turn the page. Pride and Prejudice encourages you to avidly turn the page because it engages your emotions, rather than just your sense of fine comedy.

You can also find these at The Llllllamabutchers.

Comment, comment, comment! Either here or there. Let us know who won this frickin' smackdown!

UPDATE: seldom sober's
calling it for Lizzie. HA! Although, I will admit, never in my lifetime
would I have thought that cheering on Emma would be compared to rooting
for Saddam Hussein. Not like I'm complaining, but it's interesting
nonetheless.
Question is, will Robert be grossly insulted? Methinks he will be and
he'll be shouting "pistols at dawn!" before you know it.

Sheesh. Busy, but relatively boring

Sheesh.
Busy, but relatively boring day. Didn't get anything done that I wanted
to get done---other than buying shampoo and conditioner at the mall,
but that's really here nor there. A lot of running around. Very little
accomplished in actuality. But now I can finally sit down and throw up
a few posts to keep the rabid wolves that are my audience happy. Yeah.
Right. Whatever.
We'll start off with a little meme stuff and go from there. A meme.
Yes. I'm a sucker. From you know who. Of course. It's not my fault. Honestly.

If you had your choice between this and that, what would you do?

1. Skipping and Running? Christ. Neither. Ugh. Exercise. Sweating is involved.

2. Coke or Pepsi? Diet, people. DIET. That said, Coke always and forever.

3. Rock or Hip Hop Rock? Rock and Roll. The old fashioned kind, thank you ever so much.

4. Laptop or Desktop? Wee bastard is a laptop. An ancient one with Arabic-Enabled beginnings, but it still works.

5. Cold Weather or Hot Weather? Hot weather. I am not one of
those people who lives in Minnesota because they get off on ice fishing
or hockey or snowshoeing, or cross country skiing, or just because they
really like firing up their snowblower at four a.m. to get a head
start because the weather forecast said it was going to snow until
Monday. Since it's Saturday and I can never sleep in anyway, well,
that's just what I like to do. I live here because the husband got
a job that moved us here a while back and we've been here ever since.
If I had my way, we'd move south. 6. Swimming or Bicycling? Swimming. But I like biking, too.

7. Chocolate or Vanilla? Why choose? I know I'm supposed to
choose. That this is the whole point of this exercise, but I'm a
contrarian. That's just who I am. Don't force your artificial
constructs on me, maaaan.

8. Day or Night? Night.

9. Looks or Brains? Both, if possible. If brains aren't possible, well, a nice ass goes a long way in lieu of a brain.

10. Cable, DSL, or Dial-Up? DSL. Since 1999. If you hadn't figured it out, we're early adapters here at the Cake Eater Pad.

...why don't I just whack

...why don't I just whack it some more, eh?

More Darfur.

{...}U.S. State Department spokesman Richard Boucher said Washington wanted to strengthen its original resolution to "put teeth" behind the U.N. agreement with the Sudanese government on July 3. Sudan promised Annan in the July 3 agreement that it would rein in the Janjaweed militiamen, but Annan's representative in Khartoum, Jan Pronk, said Wednesday that the government has made "no progress whatsoever." Sudan's Foreign Minister Mustafa Osman Ismail accused the United States and Britain of meddling, saying their increased pressure was the same tactic they used against Iraq. He told a news conference in Paris that threatening Sudan with international sanctions would complicate the Darfur crisis. The new U.S. draft for the first time directly threatens sanctions against the Sudanese government. It also calls for an arms embargo on Darfur, which would apply to individuals, groups or governments that supply the Janjaweed or rebel groups. The original U.S. resolution of June 30 called for an arms embargo and travel ban on the Janjaweed. It did not call for action against the Sudanese government, but said the sanctions would be reviewed in 30 days and could be extended. Many Security Council ambassadors called the latest U.S. draft a good basis for discussion. They included France, China, Algeria, Brazil, Germany and Pakistan. There is no outright opposition to the draft, but several council members, including Pakistan, Russia and China, had called for Sudan to be given sufficient time to meet its commitments under the July 3 agreement, and appeared reluctant even to threaten sanctions. "It's a basis on which we can work and we hope it will lead to a consensus as soon as possible," Pakistan's U.N. Ambassador Munir Akram told The Associated Press. "We have to see what is the approach to sanctions, exactly what we should do now, and what we should threaten now, and what we should keep in our pocket for later."

{emphasis mine}

Sigh. Here comes the full-time hedging.

And then we have the Sudanese Foreign Minister laying down threats against the US and Britain.

"The increase in pressure from the United States and Great Britain is ... the same as the increase in pressure that they put against Iraq," Foreign Minister Mustafa Osman Ismail said at a news conference in Paris. Ismail also said Britain should think twice before choosing a course of action in Darfur, a vast region of Sudan where a 15-month conflict has killed up to 30,000 people, forced over 1 million to flee their homes and left 2.2 million in desperate need of food and medicine. The death toll could surge to more than 350,000 if aid doesn't reach more than 2 million people soon, the U.S. Agency for International Development has warned. According to British press reports, Prime Minister Tony Blair was ruling out "absolutely nothing" in responding to the crisis. But Ismail suggested it would be a mistake for Blair to send troops. "If he is going to send troops to Darfur, we will withdraw our troops and give him a chance to maintain security," Ismail said. "You know what is going to happen in one or two months, these troops are going to be considered by the people of Darfur as occupying forces, and you'll have the same incidents you are facing in Iraq."

{insert shaking of head here}

..."tell us something we didn't

..."tell us something we didn't know" category.

Sheesh. Better biometrics. A new intelligence czar. C'mon people. That was a whole lot of angst for nothing new.

UPDATE: The 9/11 Commission Report.
Go read it. Really. See if you can find something we didn't already
know about in there.
I triple dog dare you.

Hallelujah! Just what I needed.

Hallelujah! Just what I needed. A silly German story!

Ahem. Without further ado, I present....

... the idiot who called the phone sex worker back and then bitched about the bill.

Snort First time pr0n searcher?

Snort

First time pr0n searcher?

The reason I ditched you

The reason I ditched you all on Friday afternoon was because the
husband and I went to go see a movie. I know. Shocker! They actually left the house! Amazing! We didn't think that was possible any more! {Sniff} We're so proud of you!
Yeah, ok. Whatever.
It was a choice between Spiderman 2 and The Bourne Supremacy. I wanted
to see Bourne. He wanted to see Spidey. We flipped a coin and he won.
Oh well. This is our tried and true marriage saver. We've been using it
for almost ten years and it has consistently done right by us. There's
no moaning and groaning when someone loses because that movie is the
next one on the list to see. It's fair and it works, and there's no
stupid grudge holding because you didn't get to see the movie you
wanted to see this time around. When used as a simple tool for setting
moving viewing priorities, the-coin-toss-as-movie-picker works rather
well and saves much angst. If you're going to consistently use it just
to beat the one you love into submission about your coin flipping
skills, well, don't be surprised when you hit romantic comedy hell. The
laws of probabilities run both ways, you know?
So, we shot off to see Spiderman 2. The husband could barely contain
himself. As a member of the phylla Geekus Extraordinarius, he is a big
Spidey fan. Read the comic book for years. Knows the history inside and
out. He's one of those guys Sam Raimi impressed tremendously with the
first one, and he couldn't wait to see this one. His verdict: better
than the first.
My verdict: WOW! I thought they'd done a good job with the first one,
but this one was much, much better. Why?
Character development. One of the reasons they make these comic book
movies is that the characters are interesting and they face interesting
conflicts. In theory. Most of the time, however, the fine line between
action and drama is stomped out by some random Doc Marten-wearing
producer who, in true Buddy Ackerman
fashion, wants more explosions and gunfire and less character
development.
Spidey 2 is not that movie, fortunately. Sure enough, there's plenty of
action, but there are also major dilemmas (and some not so major) that
Peter Parker must face and resolve. It's so damn satisfying when you
get to the end that you want to shout "Hallelujah" because you just
spent $5.50 (and that was at a matinee!) and, for once, you weren't
disappointed. They told a great story in a great way, and if there was
actually any justice in this world, Spidey 2 would be up for some
Oscars next year, and not only in the techie categories. Tobey Maguire
is wonderful, as is Rosemary Harris. Whomever decided to ask her to
play Aunt May is a genius and God Bless them. No one else could have
whacked Doc Ock with an umbrella---in true little old lady
fashion---and gotten away with it. Vedict: Go and see it. It is so
worth your time and money. You won't be disappointed.

Fausta brings up this point:

Fausta brings up this point:

However, for a more difficult choice, would it be Colin Firth as P&P's Mr. Darcy, or Alan Rickman as Col. Brandon?

Now, I will admit, I hadn't thought about this. There is something very "daddyish" about Colonel Brandon's relationship with Marianne that, I will admit freely, creeps me out a wee bit. Then I must force myself to remember that standards were different in those days, shorter life spans, etc. But still....eeeew. I became more fond of the character of Colonel Brandon when they cast Alan Rickman to play him: made him much, much more attractive in my eyes. I can deal with a relationship when the man is old enough to be a woman's father, but when I read Sense and Sensibility, I always got the impression that the good Colonel was old enough to be Marianne's grandfather. Completely wrongheaded of me, but you know how once odd ideas get into your head they stick. This one stuck. Alan made me appreciate the Colonel in a whole new way, which I was glad for because I'm a big fan of Alan. So, here is your new choice:
Colonel Brandon

or

Darcy?

I still think Darcy wins. HANDS DOWN. But hey, you might think differently.

Still no contact from Blogger.

Still no contact from Blogger.
I've gone way past simply not being pleased. I am pissed off. So now
I'm posting a plea for help: if there is anyone out there who is also
on Blogspot, who has dealt with this problem and knows how to fix it,
please email me or leave a comment.
I will be in your debt.

I hate to admit this,

I hate to admit this, but I don't really like it when the author of a
piece shows up here and then calls me out. Ahem. General Cake Eater
Disclaimer: no
one is actually supposed to read this thing and think that whatever I
might be spouting off about is actually worthy of their consideration.
Nine times out of ten, I might as well be smoking crack for all the
sense I make. Really, it's not worth your time to stop by.

In other words, I'm not frickin' Andrew Sullivan, fer chrissakes.

But it does happen. Last time was with the online editor of The Weekly Standard---a guy by the name of Jonathan Last, who was just on Dennis Miller
the other night, by the way. (Good job, Jonathan! Your caricature on
the Standard's website really doesn't look a thing like you.) This time
it's Andrew Morse about my commentary in this post.
He left a comment that's worthy enough to deserve a fresh post, because
in my usual big-mouthed way, I have a few things to add. We'll do it in
a line-by line sort of way, because I want to. Hi. I'm unenlightened Andrew. I am aware of the north-south situation in Sudan, and how it has effected the situation in Darfur. He leaves a link to this article he
wrote. First off, you're not unenlightened, I thought your commentary
was for the simple reason you did not mention the situation in the
south and how it was affecting the response in Darfur, and how it had
the capability of making it even worse. I can see now that I'm wrong. I
did troll the archives at Tech Central Station to see what else you'd
written, but that article didn't come up. For what it's worth, I'm
sorry, but there have been so many people chiming in on Darfur and on
Sudan, in general, that it's very hard to know who's honestly informed
and who's just been Googling madly. You didn't write one word about
southern secession and it was a bit stupefying. As a result, I lumped
you in with that group and I'm sorry for it.
That June article is very informative and explains things rather
nicely. It should be a must read for anyone who wants to throw their
two cents in on this topic. I am impressed by your coverage of the situation in Sudan, but
honestly do not understand your reverence for the bastard child of the
colonial era known as the state of Sudan.
Thank you, but Dear God, is that the impression you got? Yikes. To
clarify, I have no love or reverence for Bashir and his cronies. They
are Machiavellian in a way that would make even that most astute
political observer blush. I don't hold them up as an example for
prudent and fair leadership. They are representative of the precise
opposite. If their dealings with the south hadn't convinced me or
anyone of that, then Darfur would and should have. That said, however,
most of my conclusions about the worthiness of Darfurian secession, and
the general action currently required in Darfur, are based on the
simple premise that this man and his government will not be ejected
from power anytime soon. He's managed to not only stay in power, but
has managed to make large gains in the midst of a civil war and a
genocide. For better or ill, that says something about his
capabilities. He's there and he's simply not going anywhere. It could
be surmised that by simply dealing with him on Darfur, instead of
taking interventionist measures, Kofi Annan, the UN, and the United
States have added to his legitimacy and have propped him up. I don't
know whether that's the case or not, but Sudan is still on the Human
Rights Commission at the UN and the US still has a consulate in
Khartoum. Perhaps more important is how Bashir manages to keep the
international community out of his internal dealings. After all, he
managed to keep them out of the South for over twenty years. That in
itself is a somewhat amazing feat. Of course he was aided in this by
the western media's refusal/inability to cover the story, and the
general remoteness of the locations involved, but he made use of it.
This behavior lingers on and I would go so far as to make the case that
he's being helped with the genocide in Darfur by the refusal of
Security Council members to take an active role. Any resolution that
gets passed through the Security Council will be toothless, because the
sad fact of the matter is that the US hasn't the political capital to
move something more forceful through the Council. France, Russia and
China all have their own interests in getting the peace deal signed,
sealed and delivered. They have deals inked with Bashir's government:
it makes no sense that they would do anything that would tick off
Bashir right now, when they're finally on the verge of seeing results.
If there was ever a situation where you could honestly say, "No Blood
for Oil," it would be this one. However, no one, it seems, is willing
to attribute that sort of capricious greed to the French, and so we get
the "is or isn't it genocide?" arguments that make the floor of the UN
seem like high comedy.
I digress, but I think you get the point: while it would be preferable
for Bashir to go, I don't think he's moving from his spot, and he knows
how to work the international community to his own ends. He's in a very
strong position right now, and people are talking to him and his
government---not his opposition. While I'm not fond of Bashir and what
he's done to his country and can definitely see the benefit of removing
him from power but I simply cannot see it happening. This also affects
removing Darfur from Sudan, because he wouldn't allow for it. It's a
simple difference between the idealistic and the realistic. You posed the following, perhaps rhetorical, question, "And let's
be clear about the Sudanese Army's superiority: would the refugees have
run if they were armed? Are we now going to arm them to ensure that the
secession succeeds?” Well, yes. Though the American public has always
been wary of supporting foreign interventions, they have a historical
willingness to arm local resistance against totalitarian oppressors.
Is there a Darfur resistance group willing to take up this charge? Or
would it just be the SPLA/M that we would be arming, and who would be
organizing the resistance? If what I've read in the past is correct,
then they're in Darfur right now and are providing some little
resistance and protection for the refugees. Despite American claims to
the contrary, that "we will not have peace in the south on the backs of
those in Darfur," would that honestly be the case if the guns would be
going to the SPLA/M and those who decided to jump in? Wouldn't it then
be possible that, sometime in the near future, the situation could be
reversed? That there would again be war in the south on the backs of
those in Darfur? I'm leery of Garang and his cronies, much as you
pointed out in your June commentary, in that it's possible they would
use an instance of armed resistance in Darfur to further bolster their
own claims should the peace accords not prove effective enough in
practice. The last thing the people of Sudan need---in Darfur or the
south---is more fuel to the flames. It's a tricky situation, no doubt,
and I don't claim to be an expert on this sort of thing, but it appears
to me that arming those in Darfur would only be counterproductive in
the present, while more beneficial in the future? Question is, how many
eggs are we willing to break to make the omelette? And how successful
would the cookery be in the end? All of this, of course, makes the
assumption that the SPLA/M is actually in Darfur. What I read seems to
indicate this, but I don't know for sure and I could be making a whole
lot of hooey for nothing. As far as the American public being willing
to arm those who are willing to fight against totalitarian oppressors,
again, as far as Farfur is concerned, there is too much riding on the
deal in the south to allow such a thing. I'm speaking only in
generalities here, but the United States does not favor intervention of
any sort. They want to help, but they're not going to send troops, and
they're not going arm the people of Darfur. I simply cannot see that
sort of alternative being offered up on the floor of the House as a
solution to the problem. Again, the reality of the situation is such
that the US has very little political capital to expend on this issue
at the UN, and I do believe despite Colin Powell's visit and our strong
words to the contrary, there is not much we can do about it in reality.
When Sudanese refugees seek safety, why do they run to Chad?
Because Chad is a garden oasis surrounded by impenetrable defenses?
Because the reputation of the mighty Chadian armed forces intimidates
all who come near? Or perhaps there is a magical force-field on the
Chad-Sudan border? The reason why refugees feel safer in Chad is
because of an arbitrary, man-made, and man-malleable border. On one
side of the border you don't have to have to ask the permission of the
Sudanese government to help Sudanese citizens. Sudan’s power is
limited outside of its borders because other nations do have the
resources to stop Khartoum’s aggression, and will act if Khartoum
steps too far outside of its box.
So let’s consider moving the border if it will help to deliver the
resources that will end the suffering. Let’s allow the people of
western Sudan enter into formal alliances, buy their own weapons, and
regulate the crossing of their own borders without interference from
Khartoum. You are right, secession will not instantly fix the problems
in Darfur, but it will allow the process of deterrence to stabilize the
situation. Maybe the best we can hope for is a Darfur-Khartoum
relationship along the lines of the present Uganda-Sudan relationship,
but that would be a hell of a lot better than the situation now.
I agree with most of what you say here, but who is going to step up if
Khartoum steps too far? The US? The French? Some African peacekeeping
contingent? The mighty Chadian army? Nobody is going to get involved,
and if they do it will be in the most limited way possible. If the
border provides some sort of security for the refugees, it fails to
provide a barrier to the Janjaweed, who have crossed it in search of
people to kill. They've also been accompanied by Sudanese Army types.
Why the world doesn't see this as a violation of Chad's sovereign
rights when they're willing to respect Sudan's is beyond me. Which, to
my mind, also means that by erecting another border, another arbitrary
line in the proverbial sand and making a country out of Darfur, isn't
going to keep Bashir out. You argue that this would be a deterrent. I
think it would only provoke.
Finally, I think you have your cause and effect reversed when you
say "southern secession has been a major stumbling block in getting the
accords signed in the first place". That is like saying the major
stumbling block to an Israeli-Palestinian peace is the Israel's
insistence on its right to exist as a separate state
I think you misunderstood me. In a peace deal, most things are
negotiable and there are some things that aren't. Just ask Arafat: a
few years back, he had everything he wanted except for Jerusalem and he
walked away. There are dealbreakers. While you consider southern
secession to be one, it's just my opinion, but frankly, I'm very
surprised and pleased the referendum was included in the peace deal,
and not just left by the wayside completely to keep the north happy. It
easily could have been. If the US and others hadn't pushed for it, I
doubt it would have been on the table, and honestly, I'll be surprised
if the north actually lets the referendum happen six years from
whenever they get everything signed. To me, Bashir seems a bit too
pragmatic to let it all slip away without a fight. I hope I'm being
overly pessimistic.

Ahhhh. Krauthammer shows us that

Ahhhh.

Krauthammer
shows us that swearing can be indicative of a creative mind, rather
than just a lazy one. Mom---read this one. We shall discuss this later.

I must admit that one

I must admit that one of the highlights of writing this blog is that I
get to indulge in my obsession with all things Google. I love that
search engine. It's so random, so anonymous, and just so chock-a-block
full of information, it gives me shivers. It's like a card catalogue of
the world. The fun part about Googling is the clicking: all that
information, right at your fingertips: it's the height of instant
gratification. For me, however, the best part about Google is the
anonymity it affords; because no one could possibly know it was you
who clicked, right? Google is the wall behind which you hide; it's the
messenger you, as the King and the commander of legions, send out to
scout for information on troop movements. But unlike a general in
battle, Google gives you this feeling of anonymity because so many
people use it...how could anyone possibly know it was you who typed in the phrase Janet Jackson's Nipple Ring?
There may be only one or two generals in a battle, but loads of people
want to know what Miss Jackson wears on her tittie. You're safe, you
think, from the world's knowledge of your prurient interests. I hate to
be a killjoy, but unless you're a hacker who knows how to cloak
themselves, you should probably know that anonymity on the web is a
myth. While the sheer numbers of certain, specifically phrased, search
inquiries will shield you from scrutiny, you should probably know that
if your search is more specific and well defined, and you make your way
to a website, like mine, more than once, odds are someone will notice.
(And I know I will now get slammed with people googling for that
specific phrase---it's part of my point, eh? Never mind that I could
use a traffic surge. Pay attention!)
I've had a referral log mystery brewing for over a month now, and since
I found yet another reference to this mystery in the logs this morning,
I feel I should share. I named a certain individual from my youth in this post.
I will not name him again, lest I add more fuel to the flames, but it's
been been very interesting. Ever since, someone's been finding their
way here on a regular basis by Googling this individual's name. A
couple of times a week I find evidence in the referral logs of this
person's presence. I find this funny. At first there were more than a
few references, from different ISP's and even one email
reference---where someone had put the link in an email and the
recipient had found their way from that. Since then the interest has
narrowed itself down into one reference: same ISP, same Google entry. I
can't help but be curious about it.
While I do know that someone is doing this, I don't know who, precisely, is doing it or why.
There are a few clues that lead me, inexorably, to certain conclusions
regarding the who. One of the ISP's that visited here was a company
from Nebraska: our shared home state and, according to another link on
Google, the place where said individual still resides and works,
providing that information is up-to-date. Another clue is that every
single time his name is in the referral logs, it's been spelled
correctly. Is this a big deal? you ask. Well, to a certain extent. When
I wrote the post, I vaguely remembered that there are two "t's" in
their name. It's easy to forget because it's not phonetical. I also
looked up his dad, who is a scholar of some renown and has plenty of
links in the Google cache, and his name has been misspelled too many
times to count---and all of them have dropped the extra "t." But in my
referral logs? It's never been mispelled. So, all of this leads
me---in all my Miss Marple-ish glory---to believe its someone close to
him, if not the guy himself, that's Googling their way here. Someone in
Nebraska who knows how to correctly spell his last name. If it's the
guy, then he's getting here via a vanity search, which is funny in its
own right. But if it's not him, then who is it? A girlfriend? A
wife? A boyfriend? (I don't discriminate.) His parents (if it is---HI!
I hope everything's well with you!), siblings, friends, business
associates? It could be absolutely anyone, but it's probably someone he
knows. It's fun to wonder about it. I must admit, the thought has
crossed my mind that it might be him and he's obsessing over past
mistakes and is wondering how to make it up to me. But I doubt it. Yet,
by wondering about the fun bits, I also have to wonder if this lurker
thinks I'm waging some sort of war against this individual, where my
pen is my sword. That they keep coming back here for evidence of my
hatred of this individual. That they are just waiting for me to goof so
they might run to court to get a restraining order. Farfetched, I know,
but wierder things have happened. Well, said she to the lurker, if
that's the case, you can stop. I don't hate this person anymore. I
haven't thought about him in years and the only reason I did was
because of that survey. While it is
one of my regrets, it's not like I'm still harping on this almost
twenty years later, and I've sworn a blood oath to get even. It's just
one of those things I wished I would have had the courage to do because
I can see now where it might have saved me grief way back when. That's
all. Nothing more, nothing less. And it was a harmless regret
to have posted about. One that I could easily post on a public website
that wouldn't be announcing my business to the world. I may publish an
awful lot here, but I'm not about to go about airing my real
regrets on a blog: that's never going to happen. If, by chance, I
happened to run into the guy nowadays, I wouldn't bother with it. I
might even be friendly to him, depending upon how nice he was to me,
but I don't know. It would depend upon the situation, but the last
thing I would ever do is smack him for hurts sustained ages ago. It's
just not who I am. Which I suppose, if one wanted to look at the
situation with the long angle lens, perhaps I shouldn't have that
regret as a result.
Whatever the reason this lurker keeps coming here, I'm assuming this
person will automatically stop coming here once they read this post,
but I hope they don't. What I would prefer is for them to muster up the
courage to email me and let me know who they are so the mystery is
solved. One final note if the lurker happens to be the individual I
named: drop me an email and say "hi" for chrissakes. It's not going to
kill you to be friendly. My bark is definitely worse than my bite. I
promise.

Back in my heady days

Back in my heady days as poli sci major, one of the first precepts I
learned about the world is that in the absence of the rule of law, you
have anarchy. Of course, the word anarchy brings to mind images reminiscent of Escape from New York
and the one-eyed, yet fierce Snake Pliskin. A land devoid of control
until someone smells the power vacuum and takes over. As you get older,
you learn that anarchy takes many forms: you needn't resort to a
walled-in New York to prove your point. Neither is the rule of law
always just. You could use Robert Mugabe's government as an
example---just because he heads the legally recognized government of
Zimbabwe does not mean he is in control and is resorting to a just rule
of law. Currently, there is just as much anarchy in Zimababwe as if
there were no government at all. Anarchy, as I said, takes many forms.
As does the rule of law. But when you have a just rule of law,
isn't that sweet? The media seems to be glossing over the enormity of
what happened on Monday, and what happened today. An occupying power
handed over the keys to their own kingdom to a new government, that
might or might not be booted from power in the upcoming elections, and
they brought the former leader of their country before the bar for an
arraignment. Now, think about that for a minute; think about how Hitler
blew his own brains out rather than face defeat at the hands of the
Allied powers; think about how Mussolini found himself at the end of a
partisan rope. Saddam Hussein is going to have a trial
during which he will be allowed to defend himself. He very well might
still end up at the end of a rope when all is said and done, but he
will have the opportunity that Mussolini didn't receive, that Hitler
didn't want to happen---the right to justify his actions, to explain
himself. That says something rather large in the scheme of things about
our inclinations as human beings and how far they have progressed, no
matter what the media might say or whichever disgruntled minority
Iraqis they might talk to.
Say what you will about preemptive invasions, ignoring the collective
will of the UN and so on and so forth. None of these things are
admirable, I hate to say, even though they were expedient. Yet the
simple fact that the United States CPA handed over the keys to the
Iraqi government, and that their first act is to bring to justice the
man who made so many suffer for so long, says a great deal about how
powerful the rule of law is. And how very far from anarchy Iraq
actually is.

Shut the hell up about

Shut the hell up about Michael Moore already.
 
The law of diminishing returns kicked in about two weeks ago,
mmmkay?  Let the silence be overwhelming.  All the ludicrous
claims he made have been batted back thricefold.  No one need
waste their time trying to make him look bad as no one cares.
 
Thank you. 

Invite sister and fam up

Invite sister and fam up here more often.
 
They leave good food.   
Fancy schmancy bacon, rice krispie treats, goldfish crackers (which are
making a nice mid-afternoon snack for me)...the lot.   
I don't appreciate the extra jug of whole milk, but when tempered with
the good, I think I can take it. 

Hey, more Hizbollah leaders are

Hey, more Hizbollah leaders are
biting the dust.  
What I find interesting about that article is that it looks like they
had his obit prepared in advance.  Which is nice.  It not
only provides work for researchers, but it also means that if you're a
member of Hizbollah, your days are numbered.  They already put him
in the ground, too, and he was killed today.  The do bury people
speedily, don't they?
 
What's worrying is that the car bombing took place in Beirut. 
And Israel declined to comment.  Hmmmm.  {insert
eyebrows rising here}  
Are we going back to the days where Mossad had balls? 

At the parade, the Corvair

At the parade, the Corvair Club of Minnesota was present. An entire
fleet of Corvairs trounced through the parade, to much applause from
the spectators. They were led by a beautiful 1964 Hunter Green Corvair
Coupe. Not a convertible, but it shined in a way that hasn't been
possible since car manufacturers stopped using steel and started using
aluminum. A small poster was placed in the front window. It read:

Nader's In the Trunk.

Lileks really
should get over to Cake Eater Land more often.

...In the "No Shit, Sherlock,"

...In the "No Shit, Sherlock," category.
 

NAIROBI, Kenya - Sudanese Arab militiamen rape women
and girls as young as eight in the violent campaign intended to hurt,
humiliate and drive out black Africans from the troubled region of
Darfur, a human rights organization said Monday.  The Sudanese
Janjaweed Arab militiamen sometimes torture and break limbs of women to
prevent them from escaping rape, abductions and sexual slavery, Amnesty
International said in the report titled: "Sudan, Rape as a weapon of
war in Darfur." Thousands have been killed and more than a million
black Africans have fled their homes in the face of attacks by the
government-backed Arab militiamen known as Janjaweed, or "horsemen" in
the local dialect. The Janjaweed "are happy when they rape. They sing
when they rape and they tell that we are just slaves and that they can
do with us how they wish," a 37-year-old victim, identified only as A.,
says in the report. Sudan on Saturday ordered that committees of women
judges, police officers and legal consultants investigate rape
accusations and help victims through criminal cases in the Iraq (news - web sites)-sized
Darfur region. The Arab militiamen routinely kill black African men in
the western region and target women and girls for sexual violence,
Amnesty International said, citing hundreds of interviews human rights
workers conducted in camps sheltering people who fled the atrocities in
Darfur. "Women and girls are being attacked, not only to dehumanize the
women themselves but also to humiliate, punish, control, inflict fear
and displace women and to persecute the community to which they
belong," the London-based group said. "In many cases the Janjaweed have
raped women in public, in the open air, in front of their husbands,
relatives or the wider community," the group said. "The suffering and
abuse endured by these women goes far beyond the actual rape ...
survivors now face a lifetime of stigma and marginalisation from their
own families and communities."

What's not so odd about this is that I can picture some
frizzy-haired, knit-wearing woman in the Amnesty International
office in London brimming with outrage over this and demanding that
they do something!
  What, exactly, can Amnesty International do about it,
other than open their mouths? Moreover, do they think the
government of Sudan will actually do anything about prosecuting
these cases, other than making a good show of pretending to care? 
Even if you believe Sudan is operating with the best of
intentions,  will appointing female judges and police
officers to investigate do anything in the massive scheme of
things?  Will it make warfaring men think twice
before forcing themselves on an innocent woman?  Does Amnesty
International think it can actually stop this sort of thing from
happening again with their legalistic maneuvers, particularly in Darfur
or any other place like it, where the men who are waging war are
gallivanting about on horses?  Does Amnesty International actually
think that they can prevent men who probably can't read or write, or
even drive a car from using rape as a weapon when they can't comprehend
the methods meant to deter them from such an act?  
  No, I don't think they can.  I hate to underestimate
anyone's intelligence, but facts are facts: Western Sudan is not
London.  Illiteracy, while low for a nation of Sudan's stature, is still prevalent.
If these men have ever seen a magistrate or a judge in their lifetimes,
I would be very much surprised.   I would be even more
surprised if they could read the charges against them, or even be
afraid of the ramifications of such a case.   Rape has been the
primo weapon in war for millenia.  This isn't anything new in the
scheme of things.  That little tidbit of historical relevancy
doesn't make the act any less abhorrent, but it's nothing new. 
And it's a particularly potent weapon in an Islamic society, because
the shame of the act is attached to the victim, not the
perpetrator.  But do I see Amnesty International harping on about
the virulent evils of the treatment of Islamic women?  Do they
lash out at Islam in general?    No.  Here's what they call for: 
 

All parties to the conflict to stop and publicly condemn the use of rape as a weapon of war and to put adequate mechanisms in place to ensure the protection of civilians.

The Janjawid militia to be disarmed and disbanded and placed in a position where they may no longer attack the civilian population.

An international Commission of Inquiry to be established immediately to examine evidence of war crimes, crimes against humanity and other violations of international humanitarian law including rape, as well as allegations of genocide. The perpetrators of attacks on civilians, including sexual violence against women, to be brought to justice in trials that meet international standards of fairness. The safety of victims and witnesses must be protected.

The problem is Islam, not a lack of law.  One could easily say there's an overabundance of law and order in Darfur, in the form of Shari'a.  International Commission of Inquiries aren't going to solve the problem, which is that there is no centralized organization within Islam which dictates how Islamic Law is to be meted out.  There is no central boss-man in Islam, like in Catholicism.  Yet there are thousands, if not millions, of local councils and imams who are more than willing to incorrectly interprete the Koran and the resultant laws.  Imams and local councils who are more than willing to look the other way if a husband, father or a brother decides they can't live with the shame of a wife, daughter or sister who has been raped and then does something about it.   It's no small wonder that the Janjaweed militias have used rape as a weapon: it's a powerful tool to get people to flee, and there will be little or no religious recourse to what they are doing.  I would even be so willing to say that they will be praised by their local religious leaders.   Islam places men above women.  Rapists above the raped. Shari'a has no pity and it takes no prisoners, yet the recipients are judged subjectively, and in that there is no fairness of the sort Amnesty International thinks will be doled out by asking the government of Sudan to appoint people who are undoubtedly Muslims (if they have jobs in Sudan, they most likely are) to investigate simply because they think they'll get a fair shake from someone of the same faith. It's ludicrous in the extreme.     I'm not one of those people who thinks Islam is evil.  I think it simply a semi-organized religion.  Nothing more, nothing less.  The problem with Islam is in the interpretation of its Holy Book.  This, to my mind, is no different than fundamentalists who declare homosexuality is evil because it's written in the Bible.  My problem is with people who are so lacking in faith, no matter what their religion, that they choose not to listen to their hearts about God's message, but instead put their faith in a book written by men about what God has said.  This is the problem with fundamentalists of all sorts.  They use the book as the path---not as a map.  And when that book is interpreted incorrectly by people who are one step up from illiteracy, well, then we have a problem, because then it becomes subjective; the message is converted into whatever form will bring about the best result for their petty ends.   The interpretation of Islam is the problem; not the solution, and I fail to see where anyone would think that this is something that should be respected as a valid culture, particularly when it comes to the treatment of women.  Otherwise, in our efforts to bring the perpetrators to justice, all we're curing is the symptom, not the disease.

What's the solution, then?  Well, it's rather simple: there will be no equality for women in Islam until said women stop taking this shit.  I hate to be frank about it, but that's really what it comes down to, isn't it?  They have to stop subjecting themselves to this form of justice.  They must stand up, or barring that they must run.  They must put themselves first, because it's patently obvious that the minute they are violated, no one will do it for them, if they bothered in the first place.   I have an inordinate amount of pity for Islamic Women who live in rough places, like Darfur, because I wouldn't want to be in their shoes. But there is a point where you simply have to say, are you going to keep following a culture which promotes your own denigration, or are you going to demand better, no matter what the costs?    Particularly when the costs aren't more expensive than what you're paying now? 

The fact I had a

The fact I had a life that required my presence away from the computer over the past few days means I missed the Pious Agnostic's take on the JANE AUSTEN CAGE MATCH!
Heh. {Insert moment of glorious triumph here}
Reality check: Neither Robert nor I, apparently, convinced him to
change his mind about Miss Bennet being the superior of the two
characters. So, basically, it's a default.
That, however, does not mean this has all been for naught. Even though
it's a gimme, I'll take it.
I'm desperate that way. UPDATE Yes, I'm an idiot when it comes to HTML

Poetic Justic in Texas courtesy

Poetic Justic in Texas courtesy of Fausta who also was Instalanched the other day.

We have for your amusement

We have for your amusement the rebuttal portion of the Jane Austen Cage
Match. To read our original essays go here.

Here is Robert's rebuttal:

It is ironic that Kathy chose to emphasize the strengths of Elizabeth Bennet’s character and the challenges she chose to face as the basis for her argument that Elizabeth is a more enjoyable person to read about than Emma Woodhouse. I believe that it this simple “plucky underdog” theme that makes both Elizabeth herself and Pride & Prejudice that much less satisfying. I noted that Elizabeth’s many virtues come “pre-packaged.” She is undoubtedly strong and sensible, unquestionably courageous and possessed of great moral character, intellect and wit. But this is so from the very outset. There is little growth in her character because she faces little internal challenge. Elizabeth is Austen’s surrogate. And while Austen uses Elizabeth as a vehicle for commenting on the personal and social struggles of the world around her, doing so with great style, wit and grace, they remain external struggles. As a result, of course we admire Elizabeth. We cheer for her. But denied a more intimate emotional connection via internal crisis and resolution, we don’t love her in the same way as we do Emma. Elizabeth is simply a flatter character. I’ve said nothing about Elizabeth’s faults because they are not that critical to the enjoyment of her character, even though they serve as a mechanism to develop the central crises of the plot. While Elizabeth’s impulsiveness and judgementalism cause her to misjudge Wickham and prejudice her against Darcy, again, we never dig into her psyche far enough to gain the same emotional satisfaction at seeing her come face to face with them as we do with Emma’s self-blinding vanity. Elizabeth must admit to her mistakes and overcome the damage caused by them, but she need not face the issue of whether her faults are fundamental – she need never face the awful question of whether she is a good person. Such deep introspection simply is not required to resolve the plot. Of course, Pride & Prejudice is not that kind of story. As I said, Elizabeth’s struggle is not with herself, but with the world around her. But again, this is why I like this book, and Elizabeth herself, less than Emma. The unquestionably good heroine, a rebel within her own home, uses her wit, wisdom and strength to protect her weak and clueless friends and family, foil the villainous plots of The Establishment, and cause the God-like rich and handsome hero to pay for his early haughtiness, go through a period of penitent anguish and, in the end, worship her on her own terms. Not to be unkind about it, but these are the fantasies of the young – self-centered, simple and idealistic. Austen spent many years working on Pride & Prejudice before it was finally published. I believe the characters and plot never quite escaped their youthful origins. By contrast, Emma, written at the height of Austen’s powers, is a more mature work, a character study of great internal complexity and ultimate emotional depth yielding a heroine much more satisfying to the reader.

And, once again, here is mine.

If, as Robert claims, “there is a certain ‘pitchfork and torches’ character to most criticism of Emma,” it’s only because one wants to use a pitchfork to judiciously poke the esteemed Miss Woodhouse. This urge also lingers long after the book is finished. Which, I’m afraid, knowing what we know about Austen’s novels, makes one wonder why, exactly, is there a lingering resentment? Shouldn’t we believe that Emma has reformed herself? We should be satisfied that all is right in Highbury, shouldn’t we? Unfortunately, I find this is not the case and the answer lies in the character of the novel’s namesake. We are assured of Emma’s goodness, yet she is vain, and her goodness is, at times, given with an eye partially turned toward how well goodness would further her schemes. She may take Harriet Smith under her wing, a kind act to be sure, but it is only to further her wishes for Mr. Elton. Emma is intelligent but she is lacking in the area most needed to complement intelligence: common sense. Enter Mr. Knightley, possessed with an overabundance, and we have found the perfect foil for Miss Woodhouse: someone to correct her when she strays. We feel her shame after the Box Hill incident, but we are told before she says those shameful words that “she could not help herself,” implying she knew it was wrong, but uttered them anyway. Ultimately, the incident that leaves me the most dissatisfied is Emma’s relief at Harriet’s engagement. She is as happy for herself as she is for Harriet, having seemingly been let off the hook for inadvertently encouraging Harriet’s feelings toward Knightley. Now that Harriet is settled, she is free to be happy for her own engagement without any lingering traces of guilt. Had Knightley known about said encouragement, what would he have said to Emma then? If Elizabeth Bennet is “pre-packaged” and her conflict comes from without, then what are we to think about the conflict in Emma? That rich girls have lessons to learn too? Who pays the most for the errors of Emma’s ways? Not Emma. While Elizabeth has her flaws, she has at least formed her character to an extent that she may rely upon her sense to know when she has gone wrong. I do not believe one can say the same of Emma, who would be lost in a world of vanity were it not for Mr. Knightley. Elizabeth’s faults, in presupposing Mr. Darcy’s guilt in Wickham’s situation, lie in relying too strongly upon the products of her own sense and intellect; Emma’s faults lie in not having enough sense to know better. One gets the impression that Mr. Knightley will forever be correcting his wife; if Emma has truly learned the errors of her ways, why should this be the case? Pride and Prejudice is a satisfying novel because of the character of its protagonists, who will take the lessons they have learned to heart. Can we say the same of Emma?

Coming soon to a blogging wrestling match near you on TUESDAY, TUESDAY, TUESDAY!...the Bonus Reply round, after which, we will finally shut up and then you may be the judge of our little contest.

UPDATE: Robert finally got back from a big lawerly lunch and posted them over at The Llamabutchers.

Wee bastard is living up

Wee bastard is living up to its name today. I haven't the foggiest idea
as to what the problem might be. The husband spent a good three hours
cleaning that pig off last night and doing maintenence, but it still
keeps crashing like '66 Corvair. I'd say it was unsafe at any speed if
it had speed to it at all...grrr.
Will start posting again when the friggin' thing decides to work and
not crash every time I click on a link. Highly annoying.

Got the Cake Eater locks

Got the Cake Eater locks colored this morning and have a headache as a result.

For those of you who have never had their hair highlighted, let me enlighten you to the process. Because it is a process. A chemical
process that seems, to me at least, to be composed solely of ammonia.
Yeah. That stuff you might clean your floor with. It gets slathered
onto your hair, wrapped up in a piece of tinfoil, which creates yet
another chemical reaction. Depending upon how blonde you want to be,
the foil will stay on for either a few minutes or a half-hour. It's all
about the nuance of the lockage, baby. Did I mention this burns?
Nope, I guess I hadn't. Well, it does. Ammonia doesn't feel good and by
the time you're done sitting under the dryer (heating up the the foil
activates the chemicals further!), you're practically ready to beg for
a shampoo because you just want that damn stuff off of your hair as your scalp is EN FUEGO!
When the ammonia is washed away, you are then able to breathe a sigh of
relief as the burning has stopped, and then the colorist will fill your
hair with goo that supposedly tones the highlights and the base. Then
you'll get it styled and you'll leave the salon with your head smelling
like Mr. Clean without the lemony goodness.
Although I didn't go through the whole foil business this morning as I
switched colorists.
I'm extraordinarily wierd about hairstylists. I am not one of those
people who can plop down into a chair at the salon and trust the person
who will be shearing my locks to do a good job. If you're a
hairstylist, you have to prove yourself to me. This is a remnant from
my childhood: I had my hair cut by my mother's stylist for years. She
used to go to the salon every Saturday. Every other Saturday I would
accompany her for a trim. I wasn't one of those little girls with
lovely long hair. No sireee. I looked like a boy because my mother
insisted my face was too small for all the hair I had when it was grown
out. You can call me Frieda. I am cursed with naturally curly hair and
when it grows out, it has the potential to get big.
As in circa-1985, bicycle pants wearing, gum-snapping, Bronx big. Women
have lusted after my hair, saying I'm so damn lucky to have curl and
body. In my single past, men used to love to run their fingers through
the curls and amazingly enough, they never seemed to get annoyed when
their fingers stuck on a particularly erstwhile tangle. Everyone loves
my hair but me. Including my mother's stylist, a wonderful guy by the
name of Ken. Well, Ken agreed with my mother and kept my locks short
for years. I rebelled, of course, at age fifteen and since Ken wasn't
giving me what I wanted---less clipping and more mousse---I went
elsewhere. This was a monstrous mistake. Instead of receiving a trim, I
wound up looking like Gomer Pyle circa his Marine Corps days. Ken
accepted me back, despite my treachery, with a knowing smile and a
condescending wave to his chair, to which I walked, completely humbled.
I've been leery of new people cutting/doing things to my hair ever
since. I actually used to wait to have it cut until a trip to Omaha was
on the itinerary. Since I can't do that anymore, I finally had to find
someone up here to do the deal.
His name is Don. And he's wonderful. He's actually a barber, too, and
not a "stylist." Which is just fine with me because it means $20 a cut
instead of $50. Well, Don cut my hair, but when I decided to start
coloring a few years ago, I went to my friend ML's colorist. She ranted
and raved about him and was kind enough to hold my hand while he robbed
me of my coloring virginity. But I got tired of Shane. Don't get me
wrong. Shane's a good guy and a very successful businessman, but the
man is Irish. And I mean Irish
Irish, not just descended from Irishpeople---he's from Galway
originally. And I can't understand a fucking word the man says. My
hearing is not optimal. I'm not deaf or anything, and I don't know what
the deal is specifically, but there is a certain range where my hearing
is dodgy and Shane's accent lies directly in that range. So, while he
does a phenomenal job, it's an embarrassing experience to go and get my
hair colored by him. He tells me to go and sit under the dryer, and I
reply, "What?" because in all reality, to me, it sounded like,
"goitundethyer." HUH? Basically this is a mutually beneficial decision:
he doesn't have to repeat himself fifty times and I don't have to feel
like a dolt anymore.
In my usual style, however, I was a wee bit leery of Don's coloring
abilities. He's a barber---coloring is not his speciality, obviously.
Fortunately, I had no need to be. Don knows how anxious I am about my
hair. The poor guy got a huge education in my neuroses when I first
went to him. He whacked off a good eight inches of hair and reassured
me the whole time. He knows the potential freak-out situation he might
have on his hands if he goofs, so he simply makes sure that doesn't
happen. Today, instead of foiling my hair, he asked me if I'd ever used
"a cap"? Nope, I replied, what's that entail? Well, I'll pull the
strands that I want to highlight through the cap and then apply the
coloring. We'll then put you under the dryer and I'll wash it out and
that will be that. Sweet, I replied, knowing that I wasn't going to be
spending two hours at the shop getting my hair done, and that there
would be no painful burning sensation from the coloring and foiling. Go
to it, I told him. And he did. In the cap, I looked like a bald doll
which only had a few stray strands left on the top of her head. Only to
get my thickola hair through the cap he had to yank a wee bit, and my
scalp is killing me right about now. I thought it was the ammonia that
was irritating it, but after I washed it for the third time, I realized
it must be the yanking. Which leads to the question, what exactly do
you do to soothe an irritated scalp? I've never had this problem
before. I can't put skin creams in my hair. That wouldn't work. But the
stinging is driving me nuts. I'll stick with the foiling next time.
Better the devil you know, eh?

Have no idea what the

Have no idea what the hell happened to the template, but I wasn't
messing with it.  And the husband isn't here right now, so it will
have to wait until he gets home for it to be fixed.   
Sorry if it causes you any inconvenience, but I swear it's not my
fault!

WOOHOO! We've had a very

WOOHOO!
We've had a very generous donation of $100 toward James' Jaywalkers in
the last twenty-four hours!
{Insert happy dance here}
Thank you very much, Kitty! And just as soon as I figure it out how to
give it to you, my Gmail invite is yours! Courtesy of Rich at seldom sober we still have one Gmail invite to give away to the next person who donates $50.

For the rest of you---there's still plenty o' time to give. Read about James' battle against Type I Diabetes here and if you're one of those philanthropic souls who just LOVES to earn tax deductible donations to worthy causes, go here.

And, once again, I thank you for all of your support!

Go read this from today's

Go read this
from today's Opinion Journal. I shall opine later about why this is not
only wrong, but that it also smacks of good ol' fashioned snobbery.
Grrrrr.

I would never don a

I would never don a Catwoman outfit just for the hell of it. Let's face
it, stuffing my fat behind into a leather suit is probably more effort
than what it's worth. It should be more than obvious that there would
have to be a really good reason for such an event.

Perhaps Christian Bale would provide such a reason for moi?

Damn! Meee-owwww!

General Disclaimer I: Just because I said I might
don a Catwoman outfit for Christian, does not mean Christian Bale has
suddenly replaced Michael Keaton as my favorite Batman. All this means
is that he fills that suit out nicely, thank you ever so bloody much.
Disclaimer to the husband: Don't even think about it. It's not
happening and this is meant to be comedic. Nothing more, nothing less.
Don't get your nose out of joint.

I have no idea who

I have no idea who Carroll Andrew Morse is, but he has written and published the most unenlightened commentary about Darfur that I've read yet.  And keep in mind that I've read a lot
of stupid commentary when it comes to Darfur in particular and Sudan in
general.   This one takes the cake, however.
  His solution to the crisis?  Let Darfur secede from
Sudan.    He quite reasonably begins his argument by stating
the rather obvious fact that America is more inclined to intercede in a
humanitarian disaster when said disaster is caused by Mother Nature and
not man. 

When humanitarian crises are man-made, Americans
reverse their order of response. Before trying to help, we ask, "is it
any of our business?" or "can we really make a difference in the long
run?" Remember Ethiopia? For about 30 years, civil wars, droughts, and
their combination have been killing civilians in Ethiopia. When the
primary cause of death is perceived to be drought, aid flows
generously. When the primary cause is perceived to be war, America and
the west pay much less attention.   The difference in response is
a form of triage informed by historical memory. The United States knows
that it does not have the resources to help everyone. Resources must be
directed to the places where they will do the most good. Americans do
not see attempting to alleviate the suffering caused by the Third
World's Hobbesian politics as a good use of emergency resources. Even
if immediate aid fixes the situation today, the political circumstances
that created the problem will still be there tomorrow. So, when
Americans hear about yet another third-world government massacring its
citizens, we make a cold but rational choice not to overly involve
ourselves in a situation that we probably cannot resolve. Better to
save our efforts for one-time events like natural disasters.   The
consensus of despair magnifies the power of dictators. Democratic
leaders are slow to advocate foreign interventions, even for noble
humanitarian purposes. Driven by domestic political calculations, they
fear (justifiably) that the magnitude of commitment involved in fixing
broken states will frighten their constituents. Meanwhile, the measures
that do garner public support -- UN resolutions and amorphous ideas of
"diplomatic pressure" -- cannot be effective unless backed by a
credible threat of force. The result is a vicious cycle. Dictators
expand their intrastate power by the most violent means possible,
knowing that the outside world is fearful of intervening in situations
where violence is too extreme.   The cycle can be broken. There
are steps that lie between the poles of military intervention and
quietist non-involvement. Nations unwilling to tolerate Sudan's state
sponsored program of killing can derecognize Sudan's legal control over
Darfur and support the secession of western Sudan. If the outside world
cannot solve the problems in Sudan, it can remove Sudan from the
problems.

True, so very true.  But what follows isn't.
 

Recognizing the secession of oppressed provinces of failed states should be a part of the standard diplomatic toolkit. Do we not agree that every reasonable non-violent alternative should proceed the use of force? Recognizing secession is a non-violent option, though one that is rarely mentioned. Somehow, the international system has evolved to a point where threatening to derecognize a savage government is considered unthinkable while allowing hundreds of thousands to starve to death is considered business-as-usual. Arguments that recognizing western Sudan as an independent state will lead to violence are not compelling. The violence is already out of control. Doing nothing only enables its continuation.   Endorsing western Sudan's secession is a reasonable course of action given Sudan's utter failure as a state. For democrats and humanitarians, Sudan's failure is beyond obvious. For those agnostic about democracy so long as state machinery delivers efficient rule, Sudan is still a monumental failure. And for hard-headed realists, disinterested in domestic tranquility, so long as the stability of the international system limits and regulates of the use of force, preserving Sudan is of no value. Since 1955, Sudan has been engaged in a brutal winner-take-all contest for power and prestige that comes from legal control of a populous nation. Removing the prize will reduce the violence.

Spare me.  This man knows absolutely nothing about Sudan.  If he did, perhaps he might have dropped a hint that secession from the northern, ruling government is precisely what the south wants.  In all of his research over what a great option this would be for Darfur, did he just miss the fact that the south just signed a peace accord with the north to ensure a vote on that exact eventuality six years hence?  And that the north isn't really all that pleased about it?   Type "Navaisha Accords" into Google and this is what you come up with.   Is this man actually trying to tell his readers that he was completely unaware of how this hard-fought peace treaty is gumming up the international aid works when it comes to Darfur?  And how southern secession has been a major stumbling block in getting the accords signed in the first place? Or is he simply someone who is trying to make a case for a favorite argument using Darfur as Exhibit A?    Let me sum it up for Mr. Morse: the south is where all the oil is; the north has been waging a war against the southerners, who want autonomy, for over twenty years now; the international community (read France and Russia, to name a few) doesn't want those accords to go down the tubes over government supported genocide in Darfur.  But they don't want to piss off the people they've inked the deals with, either: they're willing to look the other way because peace is on its way to being established, the oil will soon flow and if southern Sudan votes to become independent, well, they've got a whole six years before that happens to ink new deals with the people who might be in charge at that point in time.  Secession is not something the northern government likes.  They don't think it a good option on the whole.   Why, exactly, would the Sudanese government let Darfur secede when they've set the precedent that secession is not viable?    Yes, yes.  Darfur doesn't have any natural resources to speak of.  Secession might theoretically be possible.  But why would Sudan let Darfur secede? And it would be a case of letting them secede: it could only happen with the Sudanese government's permission.   Theory doesn't go very far before reality intrudes, does it?  Let's look at the facts.    

1. The region's been ethnically cleansed; it's fresh and shiny; what possible reason, now that the black Africans have bugged out for safer territory---something that the legally recognized government of Sudan let happen and participated in---would they want to let them run the show?   What would all the expenditure in men and materiel have been about it if they just let the region become autonomous?  
2. If you think that Iraq is unwieldy in a sheer territorial sense, then you'd better take a good look at a map when it comes to Darfur.  How would it be possible to enforce such a secession, because Sudan, sure as the sun will rise in the morning, will not want to give it up and will have no qualms about using their superior military to prevent such an outcome.  And let's be clear about the Sudanese Army's superiority: would the refugees have run if they were armed?  Are we now going to arm them to ensure that the secession succeeds?  
3. So, if the international community takes Mr. Morse's recommendation in Darfur and legally recognizes the new country, while internationally isolating the old, they're essentially solving the problem of Darfur on the backs of the southern Sudanese.  Because Darfur could just break off and that would solve that problem, wouldn't it? 

But it still leaves the problem of the south, where there is still no cease fire to back up the peace accords: full scale civil war could break out again.  Given that the south is where the oil is, what do you think is the potential for a Darfur secession are within the international community? 

  Bupkiss.   You have to give me a better, more realistic argument before you can tell me this is the best option for Darfur and will end the violence.  Because chances are, it won't.

Courtesy of Mr. H. who

Courtesy of Mr. H. who is always on the lookout for Silly German
stories for me. He came up with a doozy this time.

"Grossly inappropriate behavior," eh? More like just plain gross.

Bleh.

I swear, animal rights activists

I swear, animal rights activists will get their knickers in a twist
over just about anything.
Sure, a PETA chick wearing a faux fur coat can drink out of a toilet to
drive home the message that no one but a damn dog should wear fur (I
still don't get that one), but a goat can't lick salt off a model.
Which instance is more cruel?
I pity that poor toilet.

Talk about the "red haze

Talk about the "red haze of anger."

I've mentioned before I'm married

I've mentioned before I'm married to a member of the phylla Geekus Extraordinarius. He's a gamer. An early adopter. He spends at least twelve hours a day on the computer. At least.
He's also a Star Wars junkie. For whatever reason, these two traits
always seem to mutually intertwined. I asked him if he'd heard about this,
thinking that maybe, for once, I could tell him something new. His
reply: "People on the boards suggested that one about a year ago."
{insert shaking of head here}
Unfortunately, even though Lucasfilm took the fans' recommendation for
the title, this is no guarantee that this flick will not suck rocks.

What has the blogosphere come

What has the blogosphere come to? I can't believe I'm going to do what
I'm about to do, which is that I'm going to sit here and write a
defense of the word "cakewalk" because Sullivan has maligned it. Fer
chrissakes. It's not like there aren't better things I could do with my
time. But, damnit, I like the word "cakewalk" and I'm not going to let
him ruin it for me. I'm just not going to. The buck stops here. Go here and scroll down. (His permalinks never freakin' work for anyone other than Instapundit.)

Apparently, it seems that there are now so many politically incorrect words out there that the New York Times has even goofed in its use of one. Sullivan quotes from a NYT op-ed:

All this fumbling has left Mr. Obama, the smooth-talking, Harvard-educated law professor from Chicago, looking like the only candidate in a race that may make him the only African-American in the Senate. Voters who don't know him yet surely will after the Democratic National Convention, where he will be keynote speaker. But it would be too bad if Mr. Obama cakewalked into Washington. Not just for Mr. Obama, who would take office with an asterisk ("*ran against incompetents"). Illinois voters deserve to see a capable opponent force him to answer tough questions and defend his positions. In other words, they deserve a nonludicrous race.

Then Sully posts an emailed-in definition of the word "cakewalk." (Apparently they don't have cakewalks in England, hence his need for defining. Why he needed someone to email it in to him, I have no idea.)

. 1. Something easily accomplished: Winning the race was a cakewalk for her. 2. A 19th-century public entertainment among African Americans in which walkers performing the most accomplished or amusing steps won cakes as prizes. 1. A strutting dance, often performed in minstrel shows. 2. The music for this dance.

Ok, now scroll further up his page, and note the alternative definition of cakewalk sent in by another reader to supplement. Then note that Sully has gone trolling on the Internet and has found examples of the minstrel show definition of a cakewalk, then says, "I don't think there's much doubt, ahem, about the racist message." Hence, of course, the implication of this whole thing is that because the Democratic Senatorial candidate from Illinois, Mr. Obama, is black, the NYT has maligned this man by using this term associated with minstrel shows from a hundred years ago. To qualify: this is what I pulled from all of this. I could be completely wrong in where my mind is leading me, but I don't think so. Of course, Sullivan never comes out and says this. He simply leaves you to wonder. It appears to me that Sullivan has chosen the more dramatic definition of the word "cakewalk" and has run with it, even without saying as much. According to the Random House Dictionary of the English Language, 2nd Ed. Unabridged, a cakewalk is:

1. (formerly)a promenade or walk, of black African origin, in which the couples with the most intricate or eccentric steps received cakes as prizes. 2. a dance with a strutting step based on this promenade. 3. music for this dance. 4. Informal something easy, sure or certain. 5. to walk or dance in or as if in a cakewalk. {1860-65; cake + walk}.

I never knew that a "cakewalk" was of African-American origin. Nor did I know that this was a dance performed in minstrel shows. You wanna know what I do know about cakewalks? Just that I've been a participant in more of them than I can remember. Where I grew up it's a popular little game played at church festivals, birthday parties and the like. The variant that I grew up with goes something like this: a large circle is laid out, with squares marking where people are supposed to stand. Music is played, and you walk from square to square, while the people who run the thing take a square away each round, leaving someone as the odd man out when the music is stopped. This eventually eliminates all the contestants save one. It's musical chairs with squares instead of chairs. The last person standing gets the cake. Due to some odd twist of fate, I am good at this. I always win a cakewalk. I even won the cakewalk at my neice's birthday party last year. (I got a box of Little Debbie Strawberry Shortcake ho-ho's. Mmmm. Now watch someone blast me for using the word "ho-ho's" because it's offensive to prostitutes.) I remember going to a festival sponsored by the church in my Dad's hometown once. My parents really wanted the prize cake, and of course, I won. No skill was needed to do so, either. Hence, this experience has always led me to the definition that cakewalks are easy, because if I could win one, well hell, then anyone could. I was pleased when I learned that yes, indeedy, when someone used the word "cakewalk" to describe something, that my definition of it being an easy thing jibed with the original. Now, apparently, if you listen to what Sully has to say, "cakewalk" is a racist term, hence is politically incorrect. I think not. "Cakewalk" is simply one of those words where the meaning has changed with time. I see a cakewalk as a happy thing. Most people see it like this, I'm sure. Something fun and easy with a prize attached. Musical chairs without the chairs. With a nice, homemade cake as the prize for winning. It's never been a racist term to most of us, but the message Sullivan sends out is that the NYT is using a word with a racist meaning, hence none of us should be using it. Particularly since he came up with proof of what a cakewalk was, a hundred years ago. Why should I change my usage of this term, which is actually listed as one of the official definitons in my dictionary, because someone says there's a long-forgotten racist connection to this word? I'm not going to stop using it. Morever, I think it's ridiculous that Sullivan would throw this out there like he has, without drawing any firm conclusions. It's an overwhelming lame thing for him to do, particularly as he is---supposedly---a champion of the anti-PC movement. Yet, what he's written is completely in-line with the entire political correctness movement. He's changed things in a completely sneaky way, never saying it's right or wrong, simply pointinng out the perceived faux pas, and letting us draw our own conclusions. {Insert waggling of eyebrows here}. Well, I'm not buying it. I'm sick and tired of this kind of crap. It keeps happening over and over again, and as a result the language has morphed into something that can be used as a weapon against the user, tainting the user even if they had no idea. The idea is to shut people up. This picking and choosing of definitions and then in a de facto sort of way, banning the usage of some words because they might be considered offensive to someone has got to stop. We all need to get thicker skins. I'm assuming that I'm not alone here in having words switch definitions in midair because of "political correctness." When I was in college, in "Business English" I was reamed for automatically using the masculine instead of using "he or she" or "their". (Can you tell that this still annoys me?) It was simply what I was taught and when I called the professor on it because my grade had suffered, she simply shrugged irritably and said, "Well, you can't do that anymore. It's changed." HOLD THE FREAKIN' PHONE? I stood there, in complete disbelief that the rules of the English language had changed. It was as if someone had said you couldn't use adverbs anymore. "It wasn't in the textbook," I pointed out. "Well, that doesn't matter. You should have known because always using the masculine is sexist, so I'm not changing your grade." We went a few rounds in the middle of class on this one, and I pointed out that how the hell was I supposed to know that the way I'd been writing papers for four years in college---I'd never been corrected on it before---was now unacceptable? She stuck to her guns and said I should have known, and furthermore, as a woman, why wasn't I offended by the "blatantly sexist" usage of the masculine when referring to a person whose gender was unknown? I said I'd never thought about it. "Well, you should have. You offended me with your usage by automatically putting me, as a female, in second place." That shut me up. Thoroughly chastised and stunned, I sat back down. I should have known? How? The rules had changed somewhere between high school and college and no one had bothered to tell me. This is representative of the political correctness movement, in my opinion. I always find out too late about words I shouldn't be using anymore. And then there's always the corresponding expression of pity and condescension from the person who corrects you, who would probably tut-tut if they weren't afraid of offending you. How definitions can change automatically without some memo being sent out to those of us who aren't pointy-headed academics is beyond me. It's simply not fair and it always leads to someone being caught with their pants down, and hence looking bad, if not worse, if we didn't know about some arbitrary change of definition. Don't think this is the way it happens? Well, what do you want to bet that the next time someone uses the word "cakewalk" in a completely innocuous way, Sullivan jumps all over them and calls them a racist because of said usage? UPDATE: protein wisdom has his own take on political correctness and, as usual, it's much better than mine.

Less windy, too, even though I just edited for clarity. Like that's going to help.

...and so I have a

...and so I have a bunch of haus frau-ey stuff to do today.  Like
cleaning the house and deciding what the hell I'm going to make for
dinner, let alone for dessert.  Because dessert is a food group
for the husband's family.  (And they pronounce it like this:
deeeee-sert, because that's the way Grandpa says it. 
Seriously.  Although they're mocking him when they say it like
that.) I'm thinking a pie, but who knows.  Pie is easy and is
a crowd pleaser.  
Yep.  That settles it.  Pie it is.   What
kind, though?  I saw peaches were on sale yesterday at the
store.  Hmmmmm.  I like peach pie.  But do the rest of
them like peach pie?  I dunno.  The mother in law generally
makes jello-related desserts.  Replete with Cool
Whip.    You might get the occasional cobbler, but
rarely pie and cake only on birthdays.  
Much thought is required.  Feel free to chime in with suggestions.
 
Dinner is another story.  I'm going to have to make a lot of
food.  To sum up quickly: the mother in law grew up on a
farm.  Meals were big and loaded with items from the five food
groups.  Meat, potatoes, vegetables, bread and, of course,
dessert.   There is always an extraordinary amount of
food on the table whenever she cooks.  The husband
and I, however, have dropped the habit of eating like we
needed to fuel ourselves for hand threshing, yet we have to revert to
old habits when they come to dinner.  I always think I'm going to
have leftovers when they come over for dinner, but I never
do.   I need something that goes well with corn on
the cob.  I'm not frying chicken for seven people---two of
whom are lovely children, but whose picky eating habits mean that
lately one of them looks like he's starving.  Nooooo sirrreee no
frying of the chicken.  It'd take forever. 
Fugettaboutit.  Hmmm.    
 
Oh, well.  I'm sure it will come to me while I'm
cleaning.  Or while I'm ironing.  Have that to do today,
too.   
 
Must get cracking.   

And of course, Steve-o didn't

And of course, Steve-o didn't let me down.

Thank God. Dork indeed.

{Insert much mirth here}

My sister's fam has left

My sister's fam has left the building!

Now I have to put things back to rights.

Blogging will be sporadic--- and potentially nonexistent---until tomorrow.

And I should probably let you know now that I'm going out of town on Friday, sans laptop, so it's going to be a short week.

I know. I'm forever disappointing you people. You'll live, though, I'm sure.

Oh, and yeah, I'm still dealing with sunburned cleavage. Hasn't gone away yet.

Owiiiieeeeeee.

Yes, I am referencing myself.

Yes, I am referencing myself. I feel I owe you all an apology. I've
been producing nothing but crap here lately. How do I know this? Well,
I've been boring myself. And it's a pretty sad thing when you're boring
yourself. The post I wrote about who will be the next James Bond
clinched it for me. After rereading it this morning, I came to the
conclusion that nowhere in that post does anyone get the idea that I am
a James Bond nut. I love James Bond. I find this to be a very
interesting topic of conversation. But my enthusiasm didn't come
through in my writing. I gave no one a reason to care about my thoughts
on the matter because I'm bored with blogging right now. This isn't
anyone's fault but mine. I'm bored, and there's absolutely no good
reason as to why you, my audience, shouldn't be bored, too. This, if
you've read the "About Me" thing on the sidebar, is the exact opposite
of what I intended to do when I started out. I want to write about
things that interest me. Those were---and are---the parameters I
started out with. But nothing has really been interesting me this week.
Yes, that's mainly the fault of the DNC Convention, but the siren call
of summer has been luring me away from the computer as well. Whether
this means this blog is going to sail through the fog only to crash
upon the rocks, I haven't the faintest idea. All I really know is that
I finally have a life again. My presence is required elsewhere, and I
find that more interesting than coming up with content for this thing.
So, what does this mean for the fifty people who show up here on a
daily basis, wondering what I'm going to write about next? Well, I
don't know, exactly. Sunday is the first anniversary of the Cake Eater
Chronicles. On the whole, I've found blogging to be a rewarding
experience. It's kept me sane during a VERY rough year by making me
focus my attentions anyplace other than my misery. But, now that we've
come through the worst part of the storm, I have to focus my attentions
elsewhere. I've written two-thirds of a manuscript. The stupid thing
needs a final act. Then it needs to be revised and sent off to a
thousand different agencies with a hope and a prayer that I will
finally find an agent, the manuscript will be sold and I can finally
call myself a full-time writer without cringing at the blatant
dishonesty I feel I'm giving off right now when I say that. I also have
a house to take care of, but more importantly, I also have a husband
who has been very good to me and whose faith in me needs to be
restored. The man supports me. He pays the bills and says that I don't
need to work at a regular, paying, job because he wants me to work on
making my dreams come true. But I haven't been working on the
manuscript very much. I feel like an absolute shit whenever I see him
trying not to cringe every time I talk about the blog, rather than the
manuscript. He deserves better than this. The conundrum here is that
I'm a one-track mind sort of girl. It's hard for me to multitask. When
I go at something, I go whole-hog, or not at all. I'm trying to learn
how to balance things out better, but I haven't been doing an admirable
job of it, I'm afraid. I have edited the thing many times. I'm working
on making it tighter. But that's not good enough. While ideas have
been swirling, very little has actually made the leap from my brain
into Microsoft Word. I need to work on that. And blogging, while a
great vent, is also distracting from this goal of mine. To put it
simply, our lives have been in limbo, and this blog is the perfect
example of what limbo looks like. Ever since February 10, 2003, our
life has been up in the air. We've been just plugging along, trying to
make it through, and what you think is my life really is not typical of
normality. I'm not going to explain it all here---but if you go
trolling through the archives, you can probably figure out what I'm
talking about. But the crisis is over. Life is finally getting back to
normal. I need to move on. Whether or not I'll be able to both write
the manuscript and blog at the same time, well...I don't know. I'm
going to give it a shot, but I don't hold high hopes that I will be
able to do both at the same time. I figure it's only fair to let
everyone know this.
So, what to expect in reality? I can't tell you that because when I sat
down to write this post, I was simply planning to excuse myself for the
afternoon. Really. We didn't celebrate the husband's birthday
yesterday. I need to make a tiramisu this morning before we go and do
something fun this afternoon. This was what I was planning on posting.
But, somehow, all of this leapt from my mind, shot through my fingers
and made it onto the page. I would have to think the simple fact that I
have this outlet, that it allows me to talk to people, that there are
people who care about what I'm thinking, would be a pretty good reason
as to why I will keep blogging, but who knows? If the last year and a
half has taught me anything it's that I am not a fortune teller, and
that I need to be more flexible. I'm simply trying to apply the lessons
I've learned so that the husband and I can have a better, more
satisfying and more fulfilling life by cutting out the grand
expectations of what our life should be. I'm trying to keep it simple.
And I'll be damned if I know if this is making any sense whatsoever to
all of you. I'm purposefully going to keep the promises vague because I
may break them. I may be back at blogging full-time before you know it.
But, unless I've learned how to write the manuscript at the same time,
well, we shouldn't consider this to be a good thing. Balance. I'm
seeking the balance that has been lacking up until now. I'm going to
give it a shot, but we'll have to see how that translates into reality.
You all might just get a boat load of crap. I don't know. If it's not
obvious, I'm still trying to figure this all out.
Expect a few posts a day, but don't be surprised if there aren't any.
Blogging has just shot down the list of priorities.

I'm tired and I'm sunburned.

I'm tired and I'm sunburned. Still. Unfortunately for me, I have a mix
of skin-types. After spending many hours baking in the sun while well
protected by sunscreen, I can get to the point where if you squint and
look at me sideways, I could
resemble a golden goddess. It is possible. But this does not discount
the plain and simple fact that---a good ten months out of the year---I
am a whitey. A whiter than white whitey. Most of the time I glow. In
fact, I am visible from space. You wanna know why the Hubble Telescope
always needed repairing when NASA actually cared about such things?
Well, that's my fault. I'm owning up to it. Sorry. Generally my legs
are white enough that they reflect the sunlight right back out of the
atmosphere. This, of course, goofed with the finely calibrated
technology that allowed us to see all sorts of junk at the back end of
the universe. I don't know what I was thinking: I should have worn
jeans all the damn time. But I didn't. Forgive me. I am one of two
natural brunettes in my immediate family: the rest are redheads and
blondes, who, due to puberty, have since joined the ranks of the
brunettes. My brother Tim and I are no longer the lone
brunettes---well, except for Susie, but she's a bottle blonde. Since I
got the brown hair, one would assume that I got the coloring that goes
with it. Nope. I got the redhead skin type, but with a twist: I can
turn into a golden goddess with time and effort---they can't. They just
sit out in the sun to get more freckles so it looks like they've got a
tan. I get the freckles, the sunburn, and
the tan.
But it's been rainy here, and I've been errant about working on "my
base" in a way that would make Karl Rove very unhappy were he to hear
about it. Today I'm paying for it. Sizzle goes the skin. Particularly
my cleavage...ouch! I bought a new swimsuit and it's cut lower in that
area than past swimsuits---virgin suntanning territory in other words.
Well, it is white no longer: it is pink. Very
pink. Aloe is doing wonders and it's not nearly as inflamed as it was
yesterday, but it's still pretty darn red. Maybe I should buy a green
bra, take a picture, and advertise "Christmas in July"?
Ya' think? Ever notice how sunburn tires you out? It shouldn't, but it
does. My body is using its extra resources to work on healing my skin,
hence I'm logy. Tack that onto the drive and the fun and staying up
late and chatting---and you have one tired girl. And I have a house to
prepare for visitors today, so I really should get to it.
I don't know what to tell you about blogging. Maybe I will. Maybe I
won't. I don't know. But don't expect too darn much from me until
Monday or Tuesday. Think of anything that you get as gravy and that way
you won't be too disappointed.

Well kids, sorry to do

Well kids, sorry to do this to you, but I'm off to the lake for today
and part of tomorrow. After constant rain yesterday, it seems as if the
weather has made a turn for the better and I shall think of you for
approximately five seconds while I'm sitting on the beach, chatting
with my sister, her husband and her kids. You'll manage to live without
me for a time, I'm sure.
In the meanwhile go and read Fausta .
There's a lot of goody over at her site today. And for other juicy,
non-Kerry related tidbits go over to the Babalu Blog and read Val's
email battle with a Castro-lovin', Bush-hatin' educator who---I
think---was trying to solicit PR help for a student exchange program.
You can find his posts here and here. The Jane Austen Cage Match is awaiting your sensible judgment. Chime in and let us know who beat the snot out of whom.

If all that goody fails to satisfy you in my absence, well, there's just no hope for you, is there?

Lastly, I'm visiting James
today and as he's coming here on Friday, I would love to be able to
greet him with the news that a few more people have donated to help him
make his diabetes disappear.

Have I mentioned that the kid has a temper? Spare me his wrath, would you?

Oh, and Rich still has a Gmail account to give away to the next person who donates $50.

It's 100% tax deductible and
you will be helping researchers find a cure for a disease that keeps
kids like James from snarfing mini-snickers bars on Halloween. As you
reach into the bottom drawer of your desk for a little sweet to get you
through your day, remember that James doesn't get that option: he
hasn't tasted a candy bar since he was two-years-old. He doesn't
remember that chocolatey, caramely goodness. Donate a few bucks toward
sharing the experience, eh? /guilt trip.

I've said before that Blogger's

I've said before that Blogger's lack of communication hasn't really
been an issue for me. It would be nice to know when they want to, you
know, update the entire system, like they did in May (we Blogspot users
had no clue about that---it just appeared). It would also be nice to
know when they plan on updating the posting window.  But on the
whole, it hasn't been a bad thing.  Until now.  Last Friday
they switched the posting window to a graphical interface (or that's
what the husband's calling it)and it's been giving me headaches ever
since I started posting again. And I have absolutely no idea why, all
of a sudden, all my posts are now going into two columns, not one. The
husband has no clue, either, which really isn't a good sign. He can
usually suss this sort of thing out without any hitches in his stride.
He spent a good hour gazing at the template code and was left without
any ideas. He thought that by deleting the Gratuitous Veggie Blogging
post (the one with the pictures) it would solve the problem.  This
was his recommendation yesterday, and I was loath to follow
through because I don't ever want to lose a post.  But I got
desperate this morning and did so and now it looks to be even
more screwed up than before! The husband  emailed Blogger
Support on my behalf YESTERDAY and they still haven't gotten back to
me. STILL. I realize the service is free, but you would think that they
could muster up some communication of the personalized kind on a
problem of this magnitude.  An auto-reply email doesn't really cut
it when your entire blog is screwed up and there's nothing you can
do about it until they do contact you. 
I realize beggars can't be choosers, but still.  We're
talking almost twenty-four hours and no contact other than an
auto-reply email.  That's just wrong.  I take a goodly amount
of crap for being a Blogspot Blogger.  Despite the new
templates and all the improvements, people still don't take you
seriously if you're on this service.  It's blog snobbery,
yes, but what the hell can I do about it?  That's just the
way the world works.   Yet, I don't mind all that
much---normally---because it's free. We've been in a budget crunch here
while the husband starts up his software company and this is just
a freakin' hobby for me: it shouldn't cost me an arm and a leg to do
this, and if I actually have to pay for software and hosting and
all the other assorted crap, well, that's normally something I
would consider to be counterproductive.  I repeat: normally. 
This is turning into one of those situations where the camel's back is
becoming loaded.  When will it break?  No one really
knows.  I'd better get an email from Blogger telling me how to fix
the damn problem sometime today or this could be the proverbial
straw. 
Again, I apologize to my regular readers for the goofup.  I
shouldn't be the one apologizing, because for once, this isn't my
fault, but still, I feel the obligation.  Also, to any new
readers, know that it's not normally this screwed up around here and
I'm sorry for giving you a big,"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WITH THIS
FREAKIN' BLOG?" moment when you first hit my site. 
I'm not going to bother posting anything new until the problem is
resolved.  Blogging will resume when Blogger gets
off its collective ass and fixes what's wrong.
       

I applaud the sentiment, but

I applaud the sentiment, but dude, was this really the best way to go about expressing your discontent?

One thing's for sure, though. No screener was able to sleep through that.

OUCH! I don't even have

OUCH!

I don't even have the plumbing but, damn, that had to have hurt.

Yeah. After minimal blogging this

Yeah. After minimal blogging this past couple of weeks, I am deserting
you once more: I am off to the hometown for the weekend. I haven't seen
the parentals since January and since Mr. H. was traversing down to the
Big O, I thought I'd hitch a ride with him. There's really nothing on
the agenda for this trip, other than that my sister and I are going to
see 311 tonight---for free! The City of Omaha is celebrating its 150th
Birthday this weekend, and this is part of the festivities. should be a
good time. The husband, on the other hand, will be spending his weekend
here, rebuilding wee bastard (another reason I haven't been posting
much this week. Running more than one window at a time seems to make
the damn thing crash, so he's going to fix the jerk), so unless my
mother is willing to give up her WiFi laptop, I won't be blogging.
Besides, there are numerous nieces, nephews, brothers and sisters and,
of course, my father, that I need to see and chat with. Oh, and send up
a few Hail Mary's that the husband is, indeed, able to fix my computer.
Barring any unforseen circumstances, I'll be back blogging on Monday.
In the meantime, I'm going to ask all of you to go and read about James' battle to make diabetes disappear. To get directly to the part where you slap your credit card down and give, go here.
I thank you in advance for your generous donations, the first donation
that is for $50 gets a Gmail accout from Rich. STILL. I'm itching (and
I know Rich is too) to give away that Gmail account, so give, kids.
Give. It's tax deductible. As I'm seeing James this weekend, there
would be nothing better than to show him that people all over the
blogosphere want to help him make his diabetes disappear. Ok, guilt
trip over. I need to go and get ready to leave. Have a great weekend!

Rich is getting desperate. His

Rich is getting desperate.

His Blogs Across America trip is coming up quickly and he's in serious
need of a few beds along the way. If you happen to be a. a blogger and
b. happen to live between either Tucson and Colorado Springs or Detroit
and Queens, NY, take pity on the boy and give him a bed for the night.
Chances are seldom sober can clean your liquor cabinet out of all the
cheap booze your clients gave you for Christmas last year. I, myself,
am planning on foisting a bottle of Seagrams 7 on him. Canadian
whiskey. Bleh. Hey, and if cleaning the liquor cabinet isn't good
enough for you, know that you get a nifty t-shirt out of the deal.

Get it? Heheheh. I'm just

Get it? Heheheh. I'm just so damn punny on Saturdays. Arf. Whatever.
Anyway, Steve-o at El Llamabutchers has some more meme's up this morning. They're always on top of these things, and I find them fun, so let's get wacky.

1) What moment from what movie still makes you laugh out loud - no matter how many times you see it?

Anything from The Sure Thing.
I might have mentioned it before, but if I didn't, my brother David was
addicted to this flick back in the day when we all still lived under
the same roof. This, of course, was back in the day when it cost $80 to
buy a movie on VHS. Dave rented this thing at least once a week because
he couldn't afford the $80. And never fail, my father would always and
forever walk in on the one scene where Nicollette Sheridan is running
up the beach in her white bikini, reminiscent of Bo Derek in 10,
and would cry, "All you kids watch is smut!" Dad's histrionics aside,
we kept renting and watching it. And I still love it. That movie is
full of good laughs. Particular favorite? The speech John Cusack's Gib
gives Daphne Zuniga's Allison while she's swimming laps.

"I flunk English, I'm outta here. I gotta get a job, and
you know what that means. That's right, they start me at the drive-up
window and I gradually work my way up from shakes to burgers, and then
one day my lucky break comes: the french fry guy dies and they offer me
the job. But the day I'm supposed to start some men come by in a black
Lincoln Continental and tell me I can make a quick 300 just for driving
a van back from Mexico. When I get out of jail I'm 36 years old. Living
in a flop house. No job. No home. No upward mobility. Very few teeth.
And then one day they find me, face down in the gutter, clutching a
bottle of paint thinner and why? Because you wouldn't help me in
English."

I can still recite that from memory, complete with all the dramatic
pauses and jumps into the pool. I can also quote the whole "You can't
name the kid Elliot," dissertation, and the "Barkeep! Bring my friend a trough of spritzer!" scene. Too damn funny.

2) What moment from what movie still makes you cry like a baby - no matter how many times you see it?

Schindler's List. Trite and made to make you weep, I know, but
it still does the trick. The scene where Oskar is hit by the
realization that he could have done more, saved more lives, and breaks
down---gets me every time. Same with the evacuation of the Ghetto,
where you watch Oskar follow the little girl with the colored coat's
pathway to hiding.
Also see The English Patient where Ralph Fiennes' patient
silently pleads with Juliette Binoche's Hannah to help him end his
life. She's about to dose him with morphine, and he silently pushes
more and more vials of the stuff toward her, and she finally breaks out
in tears at the thought of doing such a thing, because she loves him in
her own way, while knowing it's the right thing to do. Man. I'm tearing
up right now just thinking of it. 3) What moment from what movie made you actually turn your head
from the screen - either in fear, revulsion, or contempt for the fact
that you actually paid money to see the film?

Ok, three separate circumstances, three separate films.

Fear: Silence of the Lambs.
The scene in the basement, when the lights go out and Buffalo Bill is
watching Clarice through night vision goggles. He reaches out and,
while not touching her and giving away his position, just moves the air
by her, just to screw with her. OH GOD! That's scary as hell. I
couldn't watch it the first time I saw that movie. Obviously, I have
since, but I still squirm and watch it through my hand. Revulsion: Jurassic Park. The original. The husband was a big
fan of this book and he really wanted to see the movie, so back when he
was The Boyfriend, we went to go and see it. I spent most of the movie
turned away from the screen, holding my hands over my ears. I'm not one
to complain about too much violence in movies, but this one was just
way too much for me. It was disgusting, and when the T-Rex ate the guy
who'd ran to the bathroom...well, that was enough for me.
Contempt: Moulin Rouge. I actually liked most of this movie,
but man that scene where Jim Broadbent starts warbling "Like A Virgin"
to the Duke? Oy. ML and I went to see it together and moment that
scene's ultimate musical destination became patently obvious, I told
her, "Perfect moment for a potty break," and I rose to go to the
restroom. When I came back, she said, "I wish I'd gone with you." 4)What is one single moment from a film that is indelibly etched
in your brain? Not a scene or a sequence exactly, but three or four
seconds from a movie that contain an image or phrase or concept that
transcends normal movies?

Godfather II: "Fredo, you broke my heart!" You knew up until
that moment in time that Michael was ruthless and, in a sense, had just
been working his way up to where he thought he needed to be, but that
moment is breathtaking because you knew that Fredo wasn't long for this
world, and Michael had reached the point where he thought it was a
necessary step to off his brother. Ok, now for the second meme of the
day: High School Dance Music Burned in Your Brain.
Man, where to start. It all depends upon who was playing at said dance.
I went to an all-girls school so dances were lots of fun, particularly
when Prep (the main la-di-dah boys school) hosted them. More boys than
at our dances. When I was a freshman, there was a garage band made up
of Prep seniors, many of whom I knew because they'd gone to my grade
school, and they'd cleverly named themselves "Various Artists." I was
in LOVE (or thought I was...can't even remember his last name now) with
the lead guitarist and every time they played, you could find me in the
front row, dancing, gazing up with wonder at him, and, in general, just
simpering with pleasure at his proximity. GAG! Besides satisfying my
fifteen-year-old fantasies, they also played really good music and were
technically proficient, meaning they didn't sound like crap. Some of
their repetoire:
1. U2, Walk Away
2. The Clash, Rock the Casbah
3. The Romantics, What I Like About You
4. Shout
5. Simple Minds, Don't You Forget...
6. Tears for Fears, Everybody Wants To Rule The World
7. Beatles, Any number of their hits. Back in the USSR, Can't Buy Me
Love, Paperback Writer (I would swear this is why I still love this
song), Drive My Car, etc.
8. The Police, Message in a Bottle, Every Little Thing She does is
Magic
But, like I said, these guys were all seniors when I was a
freshman---they graduated and moved on. So, the rest of my time in high
school was occupied by either mediocre bands that I can't remember, or
DJ's, which were always a little bit of fun because they played music
most bands wouldn't dare attempt.
Memorable examples.
1. Salt-n-Pepa, Push It
2. DJ Rob, It Takes Two I may not be internationally known, but I've been known to rock the microphone...
3. Tone Loc with his Funky Cold Medina
4. MAARS, Pump Up the Volume
5. Lean on Me...and no, I'm not talking about the Ben E. King version
6. Yaz
7. New Order
8. Erasure, Chains of Love is a particular favorite.
9. Beastie Boys, You Gotta Fight, for your right to parrrrrrtaaaaay!
10. The Cure. Try catching a catholic school boy lead singer warbling
"Boys Don't Cry." A snowball has better odds of surviving hell.
Apparently, they didn't need to stoop that low to bag the babes. 11.
RUN-DMC and Aerosmith, Walk this Way. I still prefer this version over
the original. Sorry, guys.
12. Paula Abdul, Straight Up
13. Prince, Purple Rain and Let's Go Crazy. No self-respecting bad
would cover those songs. EVER.

And here I was planning

And here I was planning on blogging over the three-day weekend. Alas,
however, laziness and other things intruded on my master plan to
conquer and dominate the blogosphere with fresh content!
while all the other bloggers took the weekend off. This always happens:
no one ever blogs over long weekends. Something about having lives, I
suppose. I don't really have one, hence, I came up with the master plan
of blogging whilst no one else was, you know, just in case I could pick
up the slack. Big dog bloggers would hail and thank me, and as a result
I would suddenly be getting more hits than the instadog. Pshaw. I just
couldn't bring myself to bother.
Everyone bugged out of town this weekend. Off to a cabin in the
northwoods or wherever, Cake Eater Land seemed like a ghost town.
Which, on the whole, was rather nice. It was very quiet around here,
which I like, but there was just enough traffic that I didn't freak out
at the overall silence of the place. Phew. Because we all know how
prone I am to freaking out at silence. Anyway, The husband spent a good
portion of Saturday over at ML and the Doctor's house, helping them to
drywall their sons' bedroom. Mr. H. used to rent a room from ML, but as
he moved out and into his own apartment in January, the Doctor and ML,
two home repair junkies, have been plotting to redo his former room.
Their sons are 14 and 13 and they're huge.
Their eldest has gone from being the same height as me to looming over
me---and all within the space of a year. More space was
needed---desperately. Hence the remodel. But they wanted to do it
themselves, because they like that sort of thing. Well, they needed
some help of the masculine sort to bring sheetrock up from the garage
and to shove framing into the walls, etc. This was the second Saturday
he'd spent over there, and other than a bit of bitching about the
choice of steel framing over wood, he was as happy as a clam. Renting
is all well and good until one realizes that the opportunities to fix
worthwhile things are far and few between. The husband likes to fix
things---and he's good at it. Alas, however, he has to get his groove
on on other people's projects. Along with framing and drywalling, he
also got to help rewire the room, and of course he got to play with
saws and nail guns and screw guns and all those nifty power tools one
would need to accomplish such a job. As a result, he went about the
rest of the weekend with a well-satisfied, manly-man air about him.
Sunday, of course, was the 4th, and while we had no parties to go to
(usually we have an alley BBQ, but the ringleaders had also bugged out
of town, so no party this year), we still managed to fill the day with
worthwhile Independence Day activities. The fair fiefdom of Cake Eater
Land sponsors a parade, which conveninently, rumbles through a few
blocks from the Cake Eater Apartment. Even though Cake Eater Land is
convieniently located within a major metropolitan area, the parade
route ending just a block away from the Minneapolis Province of the
People's Republic of Minnesota, the parade has a definite small-town
feel to it---or so the husband says. The route is about a mile long: it
starts at city hall and ends in downtown Edina. There aren't any
intricate corners which would require serious maneuvering on the part
of the marching bands---it's a straight shot, which makes it ideal for
parade amateurs: juggling academies, Cake Eater Soccer Leagues, Cub
Scout troops, the Middle School marching band, and so on and so forth.
And there are lots
of kids. The under-18 demographic is well represented in the parade.
Since there are kids in the parade, there is also a goodly amount of
candy presented to the spectators as bribes for putting up with the
slowness. Whipped from small children's hands, the candy is hurled at
the spectators with the speed and force of a Roger Clemens' fastball.
If you're sitting on the curb, the chances you'll get beaned by a
Werther's Original are pretty darn good. Most people want the candy,
but they do take a defensive posture and cower in fear when the Tootsie
Pops come out: you could lose an eye that way.
I have to say, I was surprised to read Lileks
this morning. I've mentioned before that Lileks and I share a
neighborhood, only he lives over in the Province of Minneapolis,
whereas we live in Cake Eater Land. The husband and I joke frequently
that you couldn't pay us to live over there: the taxes are twice as
high and you don't get nearly as much bang for your buck as you do in
Cake Eater Land, meaning the snow gets plowed here, where across the
street in Minneapolis Province, it's a veritable demolition derby. Who
knew the difference was this pronounced, though?

Earlier in the afternoon we went to the park for a parade. All the kids go around the block driving patriotically festooned bikes and trikes. Exactly two American flags present in the entire parade: Gnat had one, and a little tiny Hmong kid had one taped to his baby carriage. We were led by a fellow banging on an Indian drum. At least one onlooker got into the spirit, and held up a boombox that played Sousa marches. (But not too loudly.) There was one flag hanging off a tree, which was nice, but somehow I expected more. Was there ever more? Probably not. It just seems like there should be, but as I’ve noted before you don’t see a lot of flags in this neighborhood. You might wonder why. The answer is because most people don’t have one. My powers of deduction are quite extraordinary, no?

You could have gone blind with all the red, white and blue that was on display at the Cake Eater Parade. Amazing, no? And Lileks doesn't live that far away from here: within a mile or two (to the best of my knowledge---this is just something I've sussed out from reading The Bleat. I'm not stalking the guy. Yet. It's just that I've noticed that his Target is my Target. His pizza delivery guy is my pizza delivery guy---and he really is MY pizza delivery guy---I've been ordering from Paradise Pizza for five years. Lileks is a newbie.). Yet, he completely missed all the flag waving. He missed the Middle School marching band playing Mouret's Rondeau, which is more popularly known as the theme from Masterpiece Theater, and doing a pretty impressive job with it. He missed the pipers and the drummers. He missed the smaller Ragtime bands, who were towed on pickup trucks. He missed people removing themselves from their comfy lawn chairs as numerous Homor Guards went by. But mostly he missed the endless line of Vets in HMMVV's, WWII-era Jeeps and Trucks, and in particular one Marine who was eighty if he was a day, in dress uniform, marching with the Korean Vets, his posture upright and very Marine-like. This man managed to keep time with his younger compadres even though he had to use a cane to get around. Lileks missed all of this because he lives over in Minneapolis Province: in Cake Eater Land (which, if you hadn't guessed already) is one of the few suburbs here in the Cities that's overwhelmingly Republican. Jump a street and an area code and it's a whole different world. Kinda sad, isn't it? Anyway, the rest of the day was filled with a walk around Lake Harriet, where the husband decided to fire up a cigar and ticked off most of our fellow walkers with the smoke. He didn't mind and decided to smile heartily about it, but, as it happened, he was a handy man to have around that afternoon: some picknickers needed fire to light their barbeque and, as he had his lighter available, he was able to help them out where the multitudes had failed. (HA!) At the bandshell, the Minnesota Pops were finishing up their concert and we listened to a little Irving Berlin and some Copeland, not to mention the requisite Tchiakovsky. Later on, we drove over to one of the local country clubs to watch fireworks. They don't advertise, and I'm not going to name them lest I ruin it for everyone else, but they allow neighborhood folks onto their beautiful golf course to watch their fireworks. And it's a nice show. Every municipality here puts on a fireworks extravaganza. If you're on high-ground, from our centralized location, you could conceivably see fireworks in every direction. But we're not on high ground, so we have to go somewhere to see a show. While these municipal shows are always huge and impressive, the downsides are many. You have to get there hours in advance to get a good spot. Parking is a nightmare, etc. This club's proximity, however, allows for us to go and see some fireworks without it being a hassle, which, in our humble estimation, adds to the fun: it shouldn't be a pain in the ass to see some fireworks. While it's a smaller show, they shoot the things off right over your head, so all you really need to do is lie back on the grass and you've got the best seat in the house. Last year was my first year at this show and I'm telling your right now that as long as I live in this neighborhood, I'm never going to a different fireworks show. The husband wasn't able to attend last year, so this was his first year at this show and he was very impressed. Mr. Gunpowder himself was pleased with the sights, sounds and smells of this experience, so much so that he was satisfied, which is unusual. Usually when he sees a large fireworks show, the first thing he wants to do is go shoot off some bottle rockets or unload half a pack of Black Cats. Somehow, a large show only makes him want more and that wasn't a possibility this year: we hadn't gone anywhere to buy fireworks of the illegal sort. But, knowing him, I was willing to compromise: I said if he wanted to go and buy some of legal (read lame) fireworks, he could do so. If we'd been at a larger show, he would be jonesing badly enough to settle for some lame fountains. Not this time. This time I was finally able to prove that bigger isn't always better. A rare victory for me, so you'll have to forgive me if I'm still savoring it two days later. Yesterday was filled with lame activities like laundry and the like, but it was a nice quiet day to cap off a busy weekend, which isn't always a bad thing. Honestly, I don't know if there's a better holiday than Independence Day. It's a wonderful thing: food, music, and gunpowder. Could you honestly ask for anything better on a beautiful summer's day? I think not. Anyway, it's probably going to be a short week of blogging. Tomorrow you might get something out of me in the morning, but my sister and her family are in-state for their yearly vacation and we'll be traveling out of the city to visit them tomorrow and part of Thursday. On Friday evening they will be arriving to spend the weekend with us here in town, and I've already been informed that they want to ride the new light-rail line (apparently, the opening has been covered extensively in the Omaha paper and they're pumped to see and ride it)and we'll be doing other family-oriented stuff this weekend. It should be good fun and I'm looking forward to the one time a year when a family member visits me, rather than the other way round. I've less encumbrances (read small children), and it's easier for me to go to them than vice versa. It will be good to see them, as I haven't been down to Omaha, where they live, since January. Robert and I should have our final JANE AUSTEN CAGE MATCH essays up later today and then it will be your turn to vote on who should win: Emma or Lizzie. And I think we all know who you'll be voting for, don't we? Hmmmm?

James, it's Central Daylight Time.

James, it's Central Daylight
Time. CDT. Or do they not have Daylight Savings Time over in the
rarefied air of Jasperwood? No falling back or springing forward? Wow.
That would be cool. But you'd have to pay higher taxes to avoid
switching your clocks. Minneapolis Province is (to use the local
vernacular)spendy.
(And yes, this is a nitpicky little post, but God, when you catch
Lileks on a mistake, you feel the need to jump ALL OVER IT, because you
know it won't happen again anytime soon. Besides, if he's true to his
word, by the time most of my readers show up and hit the link, that
post will have been replaced with the good, mistake-free stuff.)

Oh, and Rich keeps harping

Oh, and Rich keeps harping on link whoring this Newsfeed thingy.

Harp. Harp. Harp. God, what a nag.

Mark one down for equality!

Mark one down for equality!
I haven't seen the world end yet. No frogs. No locusts. No blood in the
water or on the moon. None of the usual signs of the coming apocalypse
have reared their ugly little heads. But then again, I don't get out
much. I could have missed a frog or two just because I'm a homebody,
so, if the world is starting on its downward spiral because two married lesbians want to get a divorce, tell me, will you? I wouldn't want to be left out of the loop on this one.

I'm a sucker for these

I'm a sucker for these things. Shoot me. 35 Things,

1. WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR BEDROOM WALLS? White. I rent. Nuff said.

2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? The Queen of the South
By Arturo Perez-Reverte. Favorite Author. Great words. Disappointing
subject matter. Will revisit this subject when done reading it. 3.
WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? Don't have one. 4. FAVORITE BOARD GAME?
Scrabble.
5. FAVORITE MAGAZINE? The Economist, although let the subscription
lapse. Fortunately for me, however, they still haven't cut off my
online access. Whooeee! Free content.
6. FAVORITE SMELL? The smell right before it rains.
7. FAVORITE COLOR? RED!
8. LEAST FAVORITE COLOR? Ochre aka "puke"
9. HOW MANY RINGS BEFORE YOUR ANSWERING MACHINE PICKS UP? Four or five,
depending upon which end of the line you're on. If you're calling in,
it's four and then it switches to voice mail. If you're in the house
and forgot to turn off the ringers, it's five, but if you pick up on
the fifth ring, there won't be anyone there. Hence it makes you wonder
why you get that unimportant fifth ring in the first place. 10. MOST
IMPORTANT MATERIAL THING IN MY LIFE? My computer. And the husband's,
because of course it's the one that connects me to the internet.
11. FAVORITE FLAVOR OF ICE CREAM? Chocolate. Just plain chocolate, none
of that fancy schmancy dark Bavarian chocolate crap.
12. DO YOU BREAK THE SPEED LIMIT DAILY? Oh yeah. Sometimes I even do it
flagrantly and with a great deal of panache.
13. DO YOU HAVE A STUFFED ANIMAL IN YOUR ROOM SOMEWHERE? Yeah. My
stuffed Grover is in my closet. He only comes out when the husband is
out of town. Sad, I know, but his lumpiness is more comforting than
holding on to a pillow. I've had him since I was six years old. 14.
STORMS - COOL OR SCARY? COOL!
15. FAVORITE DRINK? Chardonnay. Sapphire and Tonic, lime on the bottom.
Milk and Diet Coke with Lime. 16. WHEN IS YOUR BIRTHDAY? November. As
if there were any doubt about it, yes, I AM a Scorpio. Not that I put
any faith in that astrology bunk, but on the whole, my personality
seems to fit.
17. FAVORITE VEGETABLES? Spinach, cucumbers, tomatoes, artichokes. I
could go on. 18. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB, WHAT WOULD IT BE? PAID
novelist. I'm a novelist of the unpaid variety currently.
19. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY COLOR HAIR, WHAT WOULD IT BE? I like my brown
with the "caramely golden highlights" (Can you guess how many times
Shane had to say that for me to get it?) It suits me.
20. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE? Duh.
21. TOP THREE FAVORITE MOVIES (IN ORDER)? Oh, man. In order? And you're only limiting me to three? I don't think so. But here they are, out of order, and only representative of a very long list. Raiders of the Lost Ark, Rear Window
and Roman Holiday. For now. And it's only representative.
22. DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS? Yep. Except I
still haven't figured out the right shift key yet. 23. WHAT'S UNDER
YOUR BED? A dustbunny refugee camp. The WHO and UNHCR, along with a
number of other NGO's, have deemed it to be cholera-free, and are very
pleased with the conditions overall, but they're still concerned about
the original conditions that led the dustbunnies to take refuge there
in the first place. 24. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE NUMBER? Zero. I love that
they had to invent it.
25. FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH ON TV & IN PERSON? They're pretty much
the same: college basketball, football and occasionally college
baseball (hey, I grew up in Omaha, the home of this.)I'm
gaining an appreciation of pro hockey and I love going to Minnesota
Wild games, but watching hockey on TV leaves a little to be desired.
26. WHAT IS YOUR SINGLE BIGGEST FEAR? Public speaking. I'm one of those
people who would rather off-themselves than get up in front of a group
of people and be coherent. Heights are a VERY close second, with
suspension bridges rounding out the top three.
27. FAVORITE CD OF ALL TIME & RIGHT NOW? I have no idea. I'm sure
Mr. H. will berate me for failing to choose, but since the man has no
Winamp or Real Player on his computer, he's more into CD's than I am.
28. FAVORITE TV SHOW OF ALL TIME & RIGHT NOW? All time? Well, that
would have to be Moonlighting. Loved that show. Remington Steele also holds a very special place in my heart. Pierce....ooooh, sigh. Right now? Hmmmm. Probably CSI.
We watch it every week. Religiously. (And yes, they'd better hire
George Eads back. That Jorja Fox person can stay away, however, as she
annoys me.)
29. HAMBURGERS OR HOT DOGS? Why choose?
30. THE COOLEST PLACES YOU'VE EVER BEEN? London. Want. To. Go. Back. Badly.

31. WHAT WALLPAPER AND/OR SCREENSAVER IS ON YOUR COMPUTER RIGHT NOW? Stewie, from The Family Guy
aiming some sort of futuristic weapon at me, squinting with one eye,
telling me to "go ahead and make his day." I love that magnificent
little bastard. 32. DOES MCDONALD'S SKIMP ON YOUR FRIES & DO YOU
CARE? I only care if they've been under the heat lamp for too long. And
Burger King has better fries anyway.
33. FAVORITE CHAIN RESTAURANT(s)? Does it count if it's a local chain
and there are only two? Then it's the Edina Grill.
They have a variant over in St. Paul called the Highland Grill. Marvy
food, great customer service, and within walking distance. And the guy
who owns it puts his email address on your receipt because he wants to
hear from people---I wonder what the hell he gets in his inbox at
times. The only thing I'd wish of them in the form of improvements is
for---ahem--- WINE GLASSES WITH FREAKIN' STEMS. I feel like a
little kid sipping wine from a glass that substitutes for a juice
receptacle at breakfast. Why don't they just put a picture of the
Hamburglar on it and then we'd really be set.
34. IF YOU HAVE A BOY (OR HAVE ANOTHER BOY) WHAT WOULD YOU NAME HIM?
Fitzwilliam Darcy. (Heh. Take that, Robert! I don't see you wanting to
name your kid George Knightley.) 35. IF YOU COULD LEARN TO PLAY ONE
INSTRUMENT OVERNIGHT, WHAT WOULD IT BE? Piano. With cello a close
second. Blame this on Robert.
Because he's really responsible for all the evils in the world. You
knew that, didn't you? You didn't? Well, now you're in the loop.
Including the evil that it's now noon and I haven't showered yet.

Well, crap. In such a

Well, crap.

In such a situation it's always hard to know where to turn for guidance, but I think I've got a clue.
Bookies know everything, after all. They're the modern day Oracle at
Delphi. Don't believe me? Look at your neighborhood bookie's car the
next time you run into him or her at the coffee shop. If they're
driving anything less than a BMW, well, don't give them your money. But
if they are driving a BMW, and chances are they will, trust that they
know what they're doing. The writer used a different bookie than
paddypower, so, let's list hers as well.

The bookmakers William Hill make Clive Owen the 11/4
favourite to become the world’s favourite spy, followed by Hugh
Jackman at 3/1. They then offer 7/2 Colin Farrell, 5/1 Orlando Bloom,
7/1 Jude Law, 8/1 Christian Bale, Gerard Butler and Ewan McGregor, 12/1
Greg Wise and Jeremy Northam, 14/1 Russell Crowe and 100/1 Robbie
Williams.

So, William Hill thinks it'll be Clive Owen. Paddypower sez Hugh
Jackman.
Hmmph. If offered a choice between the two, I'll take Owen anyday. He's
a great actor. I first became familiar with him while watching these, but Second Sight was also on Mystery one night, and I was floored by his performance. He's good.
He's got a sort of rough edge that would suit Bond very well. But Hugh
Jackman will probably get it. Because that's just my luck. Because
screaming wolfpacks of teenage girls love Hugh and make his films
successful. Exhibit A: Van Helsing,
while not a box office champ, didn't go down in the first round,
either. I like Hugh, but I have a hard time seeing him as James Bond.
So, I suppose the question of the day should be: Who should be the next
James Bond?