Cake Eater Chronicles

A Bit of Advice For Bloggers From Your Friendly Neighborhood Cake Eater

When your head is stuffy and you're finding it increasingly hard to locate the kleenex box, let alone think originally, yet need new content for your blog, I've got two words that magically spell out your solution: link dump. Say it with me: "leeeeeenk dummmmp." Very good boys and girls, and since my head is stuffy and I don't have anything very original to say, I will point you to people who do have something original to say.

You ready? Excellent. Away we go...

• My Maximum Leader is a wee bit cheesed that the Olympic Flame will be earning frequent flyer miles.
• I listened to President Bush's speech this morning, and while I thought it was good, I have to say I think Chad's got a point about how it's likely to be received.
• There's been a bit of a brouhaha in the 'sphere about N.Z Bear's idea of potentially re-valuing links within the Ecosystem's unfathomable algorithms. You can find a small sampling of what bloggers think here, here, here and here.
• Chrissy got smoked on the freeway by an El Dorado yesterday and, in true Oliver Stone flashback fashion, it brought back some interesting memories.
• Sheila, once again, lets us share and revel in her obsession with Cary Grant and has an awesome post about the last scene in Notorious. I, for one, am really glad Sheila has her obsession with Cary because it allows me to indulge in my obsession with Cary, but I don't have to do nearly as much work as I would have to do normally to keep the obsession up to par. If that makes any sense whatsoever, which I don't think it does, but hey, I've got a cold so you people should be indulging me
• The Llamas would like you to kindly buy some of their merchandise. But don't buy a thong with their visage on it. That would just be wrong. In too many ways to count.

And herein endeth the link dumpage. I'm off to make some chamomile/peppermint tea which I will drink while sitting on the sofa and spacing out.

Poor You

You're not getting anything out of me tonight.

I was going to blog tonight, but somehow a cold has managed to get past my patented and (normally) highly effective Hermit Defense System(TM). Hence, two things are going to happen. First, you're going to realize you're up shit creek as far as fresh content is concerned. And Second, I'm going to see if my two-year-old bottle of Ny-Quil still has the same potency as when I bought it, or if it pickles up nicely the longer you have it.

Green tongue, here I come!

Cheers!

Scoop

Once again, Dr. Rusty's got the goods on the four hostages taken in Iraq.

Go and check it out.

Never Mind The Millions Dead or Repressed

They're inconsequential. But throw a cat into a cauldron of boiling water and Paul McCartney thinks civilization is coming to an end.

"I wouldn't even dream of going over there to play, in the same way I wouldn't go to a country that supported apartheid," McCartney says during a BBC News feature on animal cruelty in the Chinese fur trade.

"It's like something out of the dark ages," he continues. "It's just against every rule of humanity. I couldn't go there."

The video footage, which aired as part of BBC's Six O'Clock News Monday in England, purportedly shows screaming cats and dogs lifted out of tiny cages with metal tongs and thrown over a seven-foot fence. A bag of cats is seen thrown into a cauldron of boiling water. Several other animals are shown being brutally killed and skinned.

"How can the host nation of the Olympics be seen allowing animals to be treated in this terrible way?" McCartney asks.

"If they want to consider themselves a civilized nation…they're going to have to stop this."

During the News program, McCartney and wife Heather Mills express horror, shock and disgust in response to the video, which was shot by an undercover investigator for PETA. Both McCartney and Mills are outspoken animal-rights activists.

Says Mills: "People in every other country in the world should now boycott Chinese goods." {...}

While I don't necessarily think it's a good thing to be cruel to animals, where, precisely, was Sir Paul's outrage when Mao was having his little tete-a-tete out in the countryside, you know, that little event that's more commonly known as The Cultural Revolution? Yeah, I know, he was probably stoned like everyone else was. It was the sixties, after all. But still, The Beatles wielded some power back then.

But, seriously though, is he worried about the high rates of female infanticide in rural China? You know, little baby girls being killed right after birth, their tiny bodies dumped in shallow graves because boys are more highly valued? Is he worried about political dissidents who are forced into slave labor? What about the workers who are poorly paid to sew together those cat and dog pelts into coats and the like? Where's his outrage on their behalf?

The better question, however, is do you think the BBC will cover Sir Paul's indignation about how the PRC treats people the same way they covered this piece of PETA propaganda?

Can a Geek Jump A Shark? Or Do You Have To Be Fonzie To Pull That One Off?

The husband passes this along, because it's pretty cool. And I suppose it is.

If you're a geek and care about such things. I like the guys at Penny-Arcade as much as the next gamer widow, but this shit is, well, obscure.

And let's face it, kids, there's a reason for that, no?

Throw a String of Lights on the Bushes, Dear! We're Gonna Take Some Pictures!

Once again, it never ceases to amaze me what people will do to fill the hours.

Happy Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving, my devoted Cake Eater Readers.

{Hat Tip: The Cake Eater Dad via Email}

InFamous

Er, apparently I've got a rep.

Blogger in Need

Minnesota Democrats Exposed is in some serious trouble and needs help.

If you can do so, please help.

A related aside that should not be seen as a commentary on MDE's plight: this is the worst-case scenario that results from blogging anonymously. Most people blog anonymously and have no troubles with it. Some do, however---obviously. I can understand why people blog anonymously. However, it seems to me that if you choose to do so, you are simply putting a target on your back. By choosing to hide your identity, you are making it known to the world that you have something to lose by identifying yourself. Hence, the minute someone disagrees with you, and they want to get mean about it, they'll try to out you. And don't kid yourselves: no one is anonymous on the internet. Whois is just one click away and that's the beginning of the search.

In my humble opinion, it's easier to be yourself. When you have nothing to hide, you've got nothing to lose.

Cotillion Time

The Gray Tie is hosting the ball this week. Go read.

Revelations

I'm told that when you have children they ask all sorts of questions. Particularly when they get to school and their classmates start spreading nasty rumors like that there is no Santa or that the tooth fairy doesn't exist. I'm told that parents, like the White House Press Secretary, are often put in the sticky situation of having to confirm or deny such rumors. Robbo, it seems, had to deal with this last night with his eldest, but I think Llama-ette #1 gets points for creativity.

"Elvis died on the potty!" ---Llama-ette #1

Go read the whole thing.

I particularly love this bit:

{...}At first, I was amazed that the gel had even heard the name before. When I asked if she knew who he was, she answered, "Yes, she said he was the king of rock and roll."

"Well, yes, that's right - he was a singer," I replied.{...}

Now if I know my dear pal Robbo like I think I know my dear pal Robbo, he was chafing by this point. I'm sure he didn't want to talk so much to his daughter about how Elvis died, but rather would have preferred to instruct the eldest llama-ette about whether Elvis really could be considered to be "The King of Rock and Roll."

Amateur Hour

This post is going to sound very inside baseball to my readers who don't blog, but for the ones who do, and who are paying attention to the whole Pajamas Media/OSM/Pajamas Media thing, well, golly gosh, eh? Are you ready for the latest installment?

How freakin' unprofessional is this? How amateurish of them, particularly after they admit to having met with a branding company. Not to mention the fact that they have VC and, as the husband put it, for them to have wound up in this spot, at least three people---including lawyers that the VC pays for---weren't doing their jobs.

This is embarrassing to watch. My face is turning red on their behalf.

{Hat tip: God}

iDIY

For those who happen to have an old MacSE sitting around.

I will say it again: it never ceases to amaze me what some people will do to fill the hours.

Ooooh, Me! Me! MEEEEMMEMEMEMEME!

I have never liked Johnny Cash.

I have a neutral sort of appreciation for him, as in I know his music, but his music will never know me.

Johnny Cash was always country music. If you're from the Midwest, it's common knowledge that you're a follower of one of two philosophies: you're either country all the way or you loathe it. Generally speaking, with a few exceptions that could be thrown into the "follies of youth" department, I'm with the loathers. Ergo, Cash fell into the category of those who shall be loathed. That's just the way it was. Until he died. And then some bright soul at the record company decided it was time to cross market Johnny Cash to the rock and roll set. Because, you know, of course Cash was a big influence on lots of rock and roll acts. Hence you'd better run right out and buy this brand-spankin' new, digitally remastered, retrospective so you too shall know the genius that was Johnny Cash.

Better yet, you'll be able to tell a friend about it, and then they'll rush right out and buy his retrospective, too. And they'll tell another friend, who will tell another friend...

Until it's, reportedly, common knowledge that the Man in Black was always cool.

When he most assuredly wasn't.

Not by a long chalk.

Although, I will admit a fondness for his recording of Depeche Mode's Personal Jesus.

On Ex-Presidents and Customer Service Basics

So, we really didn't do much over the weekend. We watched a few movies, both of which could have been better. I made a pot of chili on Saturday night---turned out wonderfully, thanks for asking---and on Sunday afternoon, the husband decided he had a boatload of paperwork to do (he'd been avoiding it) so I decided to go down to Barnes and Noble and see what I could do about blowing the ill gotten gains a/k/a gift cards I'd received for my birthday.

Of course, given my luck, this turned out to be a bad decision.

Now, undoubtedly you're wondering why this was a bad decision. You're thinking that perhaps with the upcoming Christmas shopping season the place was overloaded with holiday shoppers or that the sales staff wasn't being friendly enough, or that perhaps there had been some obnoxious fellow customer who'd ruined the experience for me. In reply, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, I would have to tell you that it was a combination of things that made this an unpleasant shopping experience.

Those and the fact that Jimmy Effin' Carter had decided to have a book signing in that particular Barnes and Noble.

Of all the book stores, in all the world, he had to walk into mine! The bastard!

You see, ever since we descended into Entrepreneurial Hell (TM), I don't get to go and spend money at the bookstore very often. And I miss that. Wandering around a bookstore for hours on end is one of my favorite things to do in this world. I love it. I get a thrill around books. You can walk me into a library and for a split second I'll stand there and let chills run up my spine. There is so much possibility when it comes to entering a book house. It doesn't matter whether it's a bookstore or a library or a friend's house where they have shelf after shelf loaded with books, all of these places signal possibilities---and people who like possibilities--- to me. You have no idea what you could find in those books. You have no idea how you could be enlightened by those books, or, when it comes to a home library, how you could be enlightened by the people who own those books. And that enlightenment creates a sort of awe and wonder in me.

In other words, I treat books the way some people treat the rainforest: there's probably a cure for cancer in there, somewhere, we just haven't stumbled upon it yet.

So, you'll perhaps understand that I enjoy shopping for books. The experience for me is akin to fine dining, or enjoying a particularly nice glass of single malt scotch with a cigar. There pleasure derived from in the act itself and there is also pleasure derived simply because you've done it right. It's one of the finer things in life for me. And, while it's horribly selfish of me to admit this, I just don't get the thrill of it all when budgetary constraints limit me. I know that sounds horrible, but would you go to a five-star restaurant if you were only able to pay for a breadstick? What's the point in that? So, when I'm broke I stay away from the bookstore and stick to the biblioteca. It's a system that works for me and that I'm accustomed to---except when I actually have money to spend, which is when I gear up for a trip to the bookstore, like I did yesterday. My birthday was two weeks ago. I've been holding on to the gift cards and have been waiting for a good moment to go and use them. I was savoring the anticipation of it all. And yesterday turned out to be that moment.

Until I actually got there...

...wherein I walked into the store and was accosted by two eager beaver Barnes and Noble employees, puffed up with their own self-importance, who asked, breathlessly, if I was there for President Carter's book signing. When I said, no, they sloughed me off like I was the dead skin on their loofah, and moved on, breathlessly excited, to the next person who'd walked through the door...who was, indeed, there for President Carter's book signing. As I stood there, taking off my gloves and hat, I, being the Gladys Cravitz that I am, listened to the schpiel. They were to go downstairs and someone would direct them to the end of the line. They were given a wristband the color of a yellow highlighter and were informed that there were no guarantees that President Carter would actually sign their books, it all depended on "how much he felt he up to doing." The very earnest lady on the receiving end of all this breathlessly relayed information, who looked like nothing so much as a Mrs. Potato Head in jersey knit and Clarks' clogs, nodded earnestly and waddled to the escalators, her copy of "Our Endangered Values: America's Moral Crisis," clutched tightly to her expanded universe-like bosom.

Have I mentioned this was at a little after two p.m.? Have I also mentioned that King Bubba the First wasn't expected until six p.m.? And that there were already forty some odd people in line by the time I got there?

Now, I'm not going to deny the moonbats a chance to see their bunny-rabbit fearing leader. I don't really care about that. What I do care about, however, is that the entire freakin' store was given over to this momentous occasion. To the exclusion of all else. The entire fiction section was littered with people who were lined up within the rows. If you tried to go and, God Help You, look for a book in that section you were shot nasty looks and, in one memorable exchange, accused of cutting in line. (Sha. As if!) Another section, upstairs, was entirely roped off as well. It looked to me as if they were preparing it for an extended queue but didn't want anyone in there, at all, until the line needed to be managed. As I passed that section, a book on one of the verboten shelves caught my eye. I wanted to look at it, but considering there were Cake Eater City cops and dogs from the Hennepin County Canine Unit posted nearby, I decided not to risk it. I asked a passing clerk if she would help me, and at which point said sales clerk had to forcibly restrain herself from rolling her eyes and said in an exasperated tone, "If you want something from there, why don't you come back tomorrow? We're a bit busy today," before storming off without extending an apology.

There is one rule of doing business that everyone should be aware of. And if you're not, you're probably bankrupt and you deserve to be so. Are you waiting with bated breath for me to tell you what this rule is, my devoted Cake Eater Readers? I'm sure you are, so I won't keep you in suspense any longer: NEVER MAKE IT DIFFICULT FOR CUSTOMERS TO GIVE YOU THEIR MONEY. While I would generally refer this rule when receiving slow service at a cash register---particularly with stores who only take certain kinds of credit cards, and who sneer at cash, etc.---the rule nonetheless can be boiled down to simply having merchandise you would like to sell. You do everything you can to facilitate sales, because, if you don't facilitate sales, ahem, you will be out of business.

Now, it may not be common knowledge, but book stores have events like these to drive traffic into their stores. These CRAZY managers are working under the utterly mad assumption that, hello!, the more people you have in the store, the greater the chances are you will sell stuff. Bring in a celebrity or two or maybe an ex-President of the United States of America and maybe, just maybe, you'll get an extra few hundred people to show up to purchase wares you just happen to sell, the lure of rubbing elbows with famous people a money-making charm like no other. So, while you'll sell more than a few copies of said famous person's book, you'll also sell a lot of magazines, newspapers, drinks and food from the in-store Starbucks, and especially important this time of year, Christmas presents---I'm sure you, my bright Cake Eater readers, can see that it would be very, very stupid to tell someone they should come back tomorrow instead of helping them today. When they're there, right there and then, with a gift card burning a hole in their pocket.

At that point, I took the one book I had in my hands, went to the cash register and checked out. I was asked if I had a discount card, and then when I said, no, I was asked if I wanted to purchase one. I said, no, again (and, honestly, people if you bought one of those you're, well, you're not a rocket scientist,are you? It's not really a discount if you're paying for it, is it? Like, duh.) and then she handed me my card and my bag and asked loudly if she could help the next customer in line. What did she miss, I ask you, my eager beaver, dying-to-learn-the-basics-of-customer-service Cake Eater Readers? That's right. You, like every five-year-old who's been taken down to DEFCON 1 on a manners alert exercise, caught that she didn't say thank you.

Way to go, Barnes and Noble at the Galleria. You should be really proud of your employees!

Never Underestimate the Power of the Firth

Just in case I haven't beaten the Which-Darcy-Is-the Best horse enough, I've been meaning to point you to this bit from Mil Millington's very funny, but sadly no longer updated Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About page. To explain, Mil has a girlfriend, Margaret, and they fight quite a bit. About odd stuff. Just go and read the page to get a feeling for their relationship.

Without further ado...

Did you see that re-showing of Pride and Prejudice that was on TV the other week? No, of course you didn't; you're all Americans. What the hell am I thinking? Right, so, there's this old, but very good, adaptation of Pride and Prejudice that the BBC did ages ago and, here in Britain, they recently repeated it. Though, perhaps you have all seen it anyway, eh? Because, if anything manages to lure you briefly away from a reading a good book, then that thing is sure to be PBS, isn't it? Oh, mercy - my poor ribs.

Anyway, I was watching it with Margret, and this is the situation: she is reclining on the sofa, on the floor by her side is a cup of tea which I have made for her and brought in, she's resting her legs by placing them across me, and I am by turns gently stroking them and massaging her feet. On the TV, Colin Firth -- playing Mr Darcy -- glances up slightly in response to something Elizabeth Bennet has said. Margret pouts mournfully and says to me, 'Why can't you be romantic like that?'

Let me go over the salient points of that again.

Me:

* Tea.
* Reclining Assistance.
* Legs - Support of.
* Legs - Stroking of.
* Feet - Sensual Palpation.

Colin Sodding Firth:

* Glances up slightly.

What about that, then, eh? How much earth moving machinery would it take to level that bleeding playing field, do we think?

Tons, Mil.

Sorry. But life's just not fair, is it?

The Salts, Jane! Fetch Me The Salts!

AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Oh, for the love of all that is good and holy, is NOTHING sacred? As if it wasn't bad enough that they're completely screwing with the book, they have to have a separate ending, tailor-made for what they presume the American market wants?

Excuse me, but I'm going to collapse now. The vapors have descended.

{Insert "thud" sound here}

Random Question(s) of the Day

What's the best food to have leftover?

I believe it would be my recipie for chicken pot pie, which, while damn tasty when eaten for dinner, is truly better the next day for lunch.

The husband, I believe, would be an enthusiastic advocate for cold pizza.

Discuss.

The Best Blog Post EVER

Everyone's favorite Commie pinko is having a Best Blog Post contest and a certain post which I had absolutely nothing to do with is nominated.

I'm not telling you which post to vote for, per se, but I think we all know what happens when people cross me. So, if you know what's good for you...

A Refresher Course in Commenting Etiquette

The Cake Eater Comment Policy can be found here.

Ignore it at your peril.

Sympathy

I think we can all agree meeting with Teddy Kennedy can be a traumatizing experience.

Poor Judge Alito.

Forget buying a new robe. The poor man's going to need money for therapy.

I Inspired The G.R.O.S.S. (Get Rid of Slimy girlS) Club

Sweet!

You scored as Susie. You are Susie. Simple and sweet, you can insult Calvin in just the right way. You get perfect grades and help Calvin fail his tests. Because of you, the club G.R.O.S.S. started up. Isn't it great that you make a difference in the world? Susie 86% Mrs. Wormwood 79% Hobbes 61% Mom and Dad 54% Calvin 46% What Calvin & Hobbes character are you? created with QuizFarm.com

Hat Tip: You know Who

Random Observation for the Day

I'm having sinus problems and my head feels completely off-balance, like I'm a bobblehead doll.

It's just so weird.

UPDATE: Yeah, I know this is probably one of the lamest posts you've ever had the opportunity to read. I'm sorry I wasted your time with it, but really you should learn that this blog isn't about you, per se, but is about me, and the shit that is important and interesting to me. You're just along for the ride, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, and it's a free freakin' ride, too, so you really don't have all that much room to bitch, do you? Hmmmm?

UPDATE DEUX: My, my, my aren't I passive-agressive today?

UPDATE TROIS: I don't really have anything to add. I just figured it would be cool to update one more time to freak out the people who are reading this thing via RSS.

Ain't I a stinker?

Presented Without Commentary

Because none is needed:

LAS VEGAS - Former "Hollywood Madam" Heidi Fleiss says she's bound for a brothel in the southern Nevada desert that she wants to help remake into a resort featuring male prostitutes serving female customers.

"I am moving to Crystal," Fleiss said Wednesday of a desert crossroads 20 miles north of Pahrump and about 80 miles outside Las Vegas. It features two bordellos and little else.

"I am opening up a stud farm," Fleiss declared from her Hollywood home overlooking the Sunset Strip. "I am going to have the sexiest men on earth. Women are going to love it."{...}

Disconnects

Yet another Thursday has rolled around, hence we have yet another riveting episode of As The Divas Turn, which is being sponsored today by Proctor and Gamble. Well, no, not really, but I wish it was. I could use a bit of that household product payola---I think everyone could, in fact. Ah, but, as usual, I digress...

Our topic today: What women/men say and what they really mean and why do men grunt instead of speaking?

Now, I don't know who threw in the "Why do men grunt when speaking" but that sounds like more like someone's beef with their significant other than an actual topic so I will address that one first because it sounds like someone needs my help demystifying a few things.

And we all know I'm about demystifying things for my devoted Cake Eater Readers.

Ahem.

Why do men grunt when speaking? Well, it's because they can. They can get away with making sounds like that, so they do it. Women, being the dainty little things that we are, can't get away with making sounds like that. It would be considered impolite if a woman made a sound like that, grunting going into the "not very ladylike" catgory of incorrect female behavior, which, let's face it, is the largest category of incorrect female behavior---by a long chalk. It's pretty simple.

Anyway, as far as the difference between what people say and what they mean, well, what exactly is new there, eh, kids? People---man or woman---always say one thing and mean another. That's just the way the world works.

However, it's how you a. suss out the difference between what's said and what's meant and b.handle the difference that matters. You could be a moonbat about it: you could whine on about lies, lies, more lies, the inequity of the lies, that the lies are loud and are told by bigger liars with the ever evil lying megaphone of the conspiracy to kill puppies for profit, ad nauseam, ad infinitum. In other words whining about the lying liars and the liars who love them being your only solution to the problem. Oh, and you'd light the occasional candle and sing "Give Peace a Chance" with Mother Sheehan every now and again, but really, all you care about is bitching about the lying. Or you could be like a Marine: you could recognize the problem, and then you could adapt and improvise to overcome the problem.

As the philosopher John McClane once said: If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem. Stop being a part of the problem! So it shouldn't take a great leap of the imagination, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, to guess which option I would recommend you take in divining the truth of your significant other's words.

First, you must in fact realize that there will sometimes, indeed, be a disconnect between what someone says and what they mean. As pointed out above, that's just the way the world works. Second, you must realize that, generally speaking, there's no harm meant in the disconnect. In fact, I would venture a guess and say that when you spot a disconnect, it's that there is enough vulnerability going around to choke a horse. Case in point: when I ask the husband "Do I look fat in this?" He will correctly divine that, yes indeedy, I'm feeling a wee bit sensitive about my body at that point in time, and will---correctly, in my humble opinion---dodge like a mo'fo. He knows that lying isn't an option. That if he says, "no, darling, your ass is as small as a grain of rice," I'll know he's lying. He also knows that telling the truth isn't an option here, either. Because if my ass is, indeed, reminiscent of the rear end of a 1950's Buick, I don't want to hear about it---the brutal truth not always being the best option if you'd like to keep your head attached to your body. The husband, instead of lying or telling the truth, will dodge with a convenient, "You know there's no right answer to that question, so why do you bother asking?" See, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, is he not clever? He has, in one fell swoop, thrown that live grenade back to me, and I can guaran-frickin'-tee you that he's hoping and praying I'm going to stick the pin back in, in essence, leaving it at that. He has, indeed, adapted, improvised and overcome. At this stage of the game, he would be well within his rights to say, "Hoo-ah," in a manner reminiscent of Clint Eastwood, and shove a cigar in his mouth to celebrate the fact he's still alive.

But enough of my bloviating, go forth and read what the Sadie, Silk and Phoenix have written on the topic. Also make sure to check out one of our newest Divaesques, Miss Vile, yet another Kiwi, whom we're very glad to have with us on this adventure.

For the testosterone laden perspective, go and read StiggyPUFFY (Wait a minute. You've changed your blogging persona---again? What's this "Cloud" shit? Sorry, darling, but I'm not squeezing the Charmin this time round. It's getting confusing, so I'm going back to calling you PUFFY. Because, damnit, that's the one you started off with and it's the easiest. Even if you are no longer the world's first highly evolved blogging fish, I still like it.), Phin, The Naked Villains and Jamesyboy. Our guest XY'er this week is That 1 Guy from Drunken Wisdom.

About Time

One might well ask People what took it so damn long to come to the correct conclusion.

I've said it before but that man is so freakin' hot that bricks melt when he walks on them.

{insert fanning of self here}

It's Always Lies, Lies and Damn Statistics, Right?

Particularly when it comes to the dubious information regarding secondhand smoke and the need for smoking bans. Well, kids, I hate to tell you this, but year-on-year sales numbers don't lie.

Keegan's Pub opened three and one-half years ago in the revitalized Old St. Anthony area of Minneapolis. For three years we met our financial projections before every level of government stepped in to put an end to it.

The Federal government forced the State to give us .08

The State government forced us to give a pay increase to our bartenders and servers, our highest paid employees.

Hennepin County gave us the smoking ban.

Minneapolis gave us a smoking ban and more costly and restrictive parking for our customers.

Now Hennepin County can recognize the economic hardship it has caused and act on it. Please do so!

For the first three months of 2005, our sales were up 8% over the same months in 2004. For the most recent three months our sales are down 7.5% compared to the same months in 2004. That is a swing of 15.5%. Although our percentage decrease is smaller than some, it represents the difference between profit and loss. We have not had a profitable month since April, and the trend is downward. October 2005 was 17% down from October 2004. Cold weather will only accelerate the trend as smokers will be less willing to smoke outside. Hence, they will go to locations where they can smoke inside.

{...}One final thought: The argument that non smokers will flock to our restaurants now that we are non smoking is totally bogus. Where are they?{...}

Just in case you're not familiar with the restaurant/bar biz, they make most of their money on liquor sales. The typical profit margin for liquor is, generally speaking, through the roof. That bottle of wine you purchased at the liquor store for $25.00? Well, the restaurant purchased the same bottle wholesale for $8.00---they'll charge $9.00 a glass and will get three and a half glasses out of that bottle. They made $23.50 in profit. One would hope that you're asking yourself, "where's the catch?" Well, here it is: liquor profits pretty much float everything else that's sold in a restaurant or a bar. Food sales aren't, generally speaking, all that profitable. The bottom line is quite clear: if you want a profitable restaurant, you want people to drink. It's pretty damn simple. That three hundred percent markup on booze has to pay the rest of the costs. Like labor. Someone has to pour that wine, after all. The industry average for labor is right around forty percent, and it is, generally speaking, the largest cost. Forty percent of that $23.50 is $9.40, which leaves you $14.10 for things like glassware, tables and chairs, food and liquor costs, rent, and of course, taxes. and there's not going to be that much left over, after that's all said and done. This, of course, is grossly simplified and it's just late enough that I'm not sure I'm doing the math properly, but I'm sure you get where I'm going with all of this.

This is why most bars and restaurants fail within the first year of operation. The margins are razor thin. And when sales of your most profitable item are down because the smokers, the people who buy that very profitable item, are going elsewhere, you'd better realize the jig is going to be up very very soon. 17%, kids. SEVENTEEN FREAKIN' PERCENT. That's huge. If I was still in the restaurant biz and I was the one who was facing those year-to year numbers, I'd be having a heartattack right about now.

Just go ahead and try and tell me the smoking ban isn't hurting bars and restaurants.

St. Anthony Main---where Keegan's is located---when I first moved to Cities, was a dump. The husband and I were down in that neck of the woods recently, and we commented that the only thing that used to be in that neighborhood, besides crack houses, was Surdyks. People have worked very hard and it is now a very nice, interesting part of the downtown Minneapolis scene. I would hate to see all of that progress just die because of the smoking ban.

If you're inclined to act, email the Hennepin County Board of Commisioners at
board.clerk@co.hennepin.mn.us

Intervention Time

Oh, me dear lads....

I suppose, since I'm one of the oldest and dearest Llama blogging pals, that it's time for me to tell you that, ahem, there's no way in hell either one of you is going to hit that.

Give up la poltergeist, boys. It's not going to happen.

'W' Is For 'Whisky'

In the great state of Minnesota, if you're charged with your second DWI within ten years, the DOT will impound your regular license plates and will issue you new plates. These plates are called "special registration plates" and identify you to all and sundry as someone whose car was involved in an alcohol-related offense. These plates all start with a "W" and, as such, are called "Whisky Plates." If you have these plates on your car, the police do not need probable cause to pull you over; the fact that you have the plates on your car is enough cause in itself, or so the Legislature would have you believe.

The husband and I have long wondered why the ACLU hasn't taken this one to court. After all these plates are a blatant violation of the Fourth Amendment protection against search and siezure without probable cause. One would think that since this is a pretty important violation of the Constitution, and, furthermore that since the ACLU is all about defending the Constitutional rights of the accused, if you'd put the two together, you'd have found a case worth fighting for. Unfortunately, this hasn't been the case. It's not popular to defend drunk drivers, and no one, but no one---including the ACLU---wants to get on the bad side of MADD, so they haven't touched these types of laws with a ten-foot pole.

Until Now. Why, you ask, are they getting involved now? Well, because the plates the great State of Florida would like to stick on drunk drivers are pink.

A Florida state senator wants to require convicted drunken drivers to have license plates that start with "DUI."

The proposed law would also require bright pink license plates on vehicles driven by people with restricted driving privileges due to convictions for driving under the influence.

"Maybe it will embarrass people and keep them from drinking and driving," State Sen. Mike Fasano said. "Maybe they'll think twice."

The bill also says police "may stop any vehicle that bears a DUI plate without probable cause to check the driver."

Ohio and Michigan have similar laws in place. Other states have debated the issue, but failed to pass it due to privacy reasons.

"Pink plates would hold out individuals for punishment as well as ridicule. We are very opposed to it," said Larry Spalding, legislative counsel for the
American Civil Liberties Union in Florida.{...}

So, it's not really about the Fourth Amendment violations for the ACLU. Civil rights have very little to do with it. It's about the fact that the proposed plates would be pink and would "hold out individuals for punishment as well as ridicule." That's a problem worthy of the ACLU's attention.

Yet again, it's no surprise why everyone and their mother thinks they're a worthless organization.

Random Question(s) For the Day

What, exactly, is a 'cyclone ranger' and why would everyone want to avoid you if you were one?

*bonus points to whomever can tell me what inspired this question

Sony BMG's Idiocy: Like The Energizer Bunny

It keeps going on and on and on and on.

I don't think Sony BMG had any idea what sort of Pandora's box they were opening up when they allowed that rootkit onto their CD's. First4Internet, the company that promoted and sold the rootkit idea to Sony BMG as the solution to their DRM problems, is not going to exist soon because Sony's getting sued left and right, so it only makes sense that Sony BMG would lay off the liability on them. This isn't going away anytime soon.

Which leads one to wonder what sort of lesson Sony BMG and other record labels will pull from this misadventure. Will they think that it was all right to do insert malware onto people's computers, but that they just need to be stealthier about it next time around? Or will they take the freakin' hint already and shy away from that sort of thing in the future? One would think it would be the latter, but where Digital Rights Management is concerned, and there's loads of money lying about to be spent on lawyers and lobbyists, one can't be too sure about anything.

This is the first battle in the DRM war for as long as I can remember that the record companies have lost. That they've been willing to retreat on because it became patently obvious that their chosen method of DRM was bad for business. One wonders when they will realize that DRM in itself is bad for business?

{...}I'm all for the capitalist system. But I'm also very much a strict constitutionalist and for individual liberties. DRM systems are not a business model, they're an abuse of the legal system: a means to extract fees and control above and beyond the original intention of a simple business transaction.{...}

For me, DRM falls into the same category as the Kelo decision. Personal property rights are an absolutely crucial ingredient to the liberty and prosperity that Americans enjoy. My opinion of the Kelo decision is that it is possibly the most damaging legal ruling in the history of the United States. The entire mortgage industry, which has enabled more people in America to own their homes than in any other country, and which for the past 30-50 years has been the chief enabler driving the economy is all based upon the idea that the property of an individual has value. If the government can come in and expand the definition of Eminent Domain seemingly arbitrarily, that property will cease to have the same value it has in the past. This has the potential to undermine the economy in a way that oil shortages and natural disasters never can. This erodes the trust and covenent between the individual in a democracy and the government elected to represent that individual.

That may look like it has nothing to do with DRM, but to my mind its the same thing on a different scale. If I buy a piece of music, does Sony and it's lawyers get to tell me what I can do with that music? If so, then what did I just pay for? Can Sony and its lawyers change the definition of what I can do with that music after the purchase? If so, then they can arbitrarily affect the value of the thing that I supposedly own without compensating me for the change in value. This is truly dangerous.{...}

Curious

The only UN jerk-off shitcanned for participating in the Oil-For-Food Scandal has been reinstated by the UN.

Joseph Stephanides was fired on May 31 after a U.N.-appointed inquiry led by former U.S. Federal Reserve chairman Paul Volcker accused him of improperly steering an oil-for-food contract to a British firm.

The mid-level aide maintained he was acting on behalf of unnamed superiors in advising Lloyd's Register Inspection Ltd. to lower an open bid to win a contract.

A joint staff-management disciplinary panel reviewing his dismissal had recommended he be reinstated and given a written apology and two years' pay in damages.

Based on the review, Secretary-General Kofi Annan decided to rescind the dismissal and effectively restore four months of pay to Stephanides, who had been scheduled to retire in September.

But Annan rejected an apology and damages. "The secretary-general still maintains his position that Mr. Stephanides has violated the procurement rules," a U.N. official said.

{...}Annan, himself under attack for mismanagement of the Iraq oil-for-food program, dismissed Stephanides after Volcker's February 3 report. It accused him of colluding with Britain's then-U.N. ambassador, John Weston, by suggesting Lloyd's Register Inspection Ltd. would win a $4.5 million contract by lowering its bid.

While French firm Bureau Veritas was the low bidder, U.N. officials decided they could not select a French firm because they had recently given another contract to a French bank and hired a Frenchman as a U.N. oil overseer for the program, Volcker's report said.

Christopher Burnham, the U.N. undersecretary-general for management, said in a letter to Stephanides that he violated a U.N. requirement of impartiality by "advising the British Mission how much lower the Lloyd's bid needed to be."{...}

Hmmm. Now, there's something I'm finding curious in all of this: where's Stephanides' payola? How much did he get from Lloyd's---and where did he put it? Everyone else in this deal made some coin: there's no mention in the article of Stephanides' having received any cash. Never mind that Kojo Annan received $200K from a Swiss firm for steering Oil for Food business their way and his father hasn't been so much as slapped on the hand for it; never mind that Benon Sevon made some cash with oil payments, and he was allowed to resign; it's simply interesting to me that they would fire the one guy who didn't receive any cash for his efforts.

That really doesn't make much sense, does it?

Unless he's the patsy. Then it makes a whole lot of sense.

Hmmph. I don't know.

But I do know that I love that I just had the opportunity to use the word "patsy." I'm, like, all Oliver Stone-ish now with the conspiracy theory.

A General Alert For My Four West Coast Readers

If you're a House fan---which I know two of you are---make sure you record it with whichever recording device you might have. (I can't say "tape" anymore; someone might bean me for being "technologically behind the times" and honestly I just don't need it.)

It's super-duper snarky tonight---and it's really good. You're going to want to rewatch it. Trust me on this one.

Joy on a Stick!

Oh, Yay! Yet another way to be rejected!

{hat tip: the llamas}

A Deluge of Photos

Since my birthday was sometime in the past ten days---and no, I'm not telling you when it was. Not that I think you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, care, either, because you're a fickle lot---I've received a lot of snail mail from the extended fam. Included were pictures of various nieces and nephews. I thought I'd share the cuteness with you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, before I put them up on the fridge. And because it will make the Cake Eater Mom happy to see them.

If you're interested, take the jump.

We'll go from oldest to youngest. Because that's easiest on my brain.

The blonde boy on the far right is my nephew Austin. He's a senior in high school this year---and he's making me feel really damn old because he was born when I was a junior in high school. Oy.

This is Austin's younger brother, Denver. (Yes, my sister did refer to an atlas when choosing names for her children. Austin and Denver have a little brother named "Jackson." She's also married to a man named "Dallas.") Does this kid look to you like he had to be driven to homecoming?

Well, he did. {Insert "heh" here}

He turns 16 later this month and his mother says the closer he gets to getting his license, the better his driving skills have become.

This is Colin---my godchild and the eldest son of the Cake Eater Sister, Christi. He's eight and in the third grade and apparently didn't want to have to show his teeth when he sat for this portrait. Due to the lack of choppers in view and the strangely lacksidaisical expression on Colin's face that said lack produced, the husband and I think he looks rather like...

And that's a fact, Jack!

Ya'll remember James, don't you? Well, good. This is his first grade photo.

This is Colin and James' little sister, Maggie. She's five and she's in preschool. And usually she's much cheerier than this picture would lead you to believe. Honestly. We have no idea why she looks pissed as holy hell in this photo.

And now to switch to the Nelson side of the family...

This is Roman---he's the husband's sister's son and lives across town. He's the same age as Colin, but he's homeschooled, so I'm not really sure if he's in second or third grade currently. Hmmmm. I do know this much: if he actually went to school, he'd be in second grade, because he's just that much behind the deadline for school entrance. I don't know what happened to his hair this day, but it looks like he threw in a little too much gel.

And this is Roman's little sister, Raegan. She's the same age as Maggie---five, but I'm not sure if she's in kindergarten or first grade. It's that whole homeschooling thing---you never really know where they're at, although it's usually above and beyond where you think it should be.

And there's your recommended daily allowance of cuteness, my devoted Cake Eater Readers. I hope you enjoyed it.

Nothing Left For Me To Do But Dance*

It's Cotillion Tuesday over at Free Thoughts. Run along now.

*ten points to whomever can name the song/artiste

News Flash

Just in case your next stop after reading Lileks is the Cake Eater, although I don't know why it would be, I feel obliged to let you know, that, no, it hasn't started snowing yet.

But, we're not out of the woods, yet. And it looks like it's actually going to snow well into Wednesday... Or so the local weather guy keeps assuring me, in a breathless, oh-pleasepleaseplease-let-it-be-true, pants chock-a-block full of ants sort of way.

This is my ninth Minnesota winter. I still have yet to understand why people up here get as excited as they do when it comes to the first snowfall. Whoop-de-doo. It snows here in the winter. {Insert Gomer Pyle Voice Here} Surprise, Surprise, Surprise! {/Gomer voice} We live in the northernmost state in the contiguous forty-eight; we're just south of Canada: it's going to snow, sometime, during the winter. It's a given. Yet people---the weather people in particular---get all breathy and hysterical about it, like virgins on prom night. Their eyes shine with an unholy glee that suggests ice fishing is just around the corner and they can't freakin' wait to drive their ten-ton pickup truck across a frozen lake to their ice fishing hut so they can saw open a hole in the lake and sit there with a twelve pack of Bud, and a line in the frozen water. (Yes. You're remembering Grumpy Old Men aren't you? Yes, people actually do that up here. They didn't just make that up.) They think of the joys of outdoor ice rinks and cross country skiing and snowshoeing and snowmobiling and all of that winter-related crap---and yet none of these winter pasttimes can happen unless the snow starts falling.

So, if you believe the hype, you'd think the State of Minnesota would be full of people who love winter. And yet....and yet, even here in the Great White Hinterlands people still forget how to freakin' drive in the fluffy white stuff. I know. You'd think it would be the opposite. That we'd have a population of nothing but battle-hardened, wise drivers who could handle driving in snow and ice. But no. People here are like people from anywhere else: they will forget how to drive today---and it will be because there will be snowflakes falling from the skies. Some people will forget how to brake today, while others will forget how to press the gas pedal. Some will swerve and will wind up in the ditch. Some will not swerve and will wind up in the back of the car in front of them. Some will make it home safely; some will have to have their cars home. All will bitch about everyone else's inability to drive in bad weather.

It's amazing in this day and age that people could forget that they have anti-lock brakes, but they do. They also forget that they have nice tires that grip the road in all weather conditions. They forget not to ride on the brake and that if your car starts to swing one way, you slowly turn the steering wheel opposite. But mostly they'll forget that it's been warm this autumn---the ground hasn't frozen yet, so it's not like ice will be forming on streets where there's plenty of traffic, eh? It's just wet, kids, not slippery. It's not that hard, people, to remember this stuff. Really, it's not. Save everyone the traffic jam tonight, please. I don't want to have to listen to a thousand horns honking outside of my nice, warm apartment this evening.

Well, Snake Plissken Is an Upright Dude...

Sort of.

Your Daily Recommended Dose of Irony

Oh, the hypocrisy of Sony BMG

{...} the rootkit technology itself has copyright infringing code taken from LAME, the open source mp3 encoder -- which has a clear copyright license, requiring certain things, none of which Sony BMG/First4Internet follows. Yes, the irony is thick: this technology that Sony BMG still claims is necessary to protect its intellectual property, apparently violates other's intellectual property{...}

Yes, kids, you read that one right: the only copyrights that matter are Sony's.

Well, It Had To Happen Sometime

But that's not going to stop me from uttering the words "Fuck a duck" to show the world how I really feel about this.

After an unusally balmy autumn, the Twin Cities are bracing for the first significant snowfall since March with up to 5 inches of snow scheduled to pile up by midday Tuesday.

The entire state of Minnesota and much of western Wisconsin is currently under a winter storm watch.

For the Twin Cities, rain is expected tonight, turning to snow after 9 p.m. Tuesday's rush hours are likely to be tortured, with 3 to 5 inches possible by late evening Tuesday, compounded by strong winds gusting toward 30 miles per hour.

Winds are expected to continue to roar into Wednesday, with falling temperatures producing subzero windchills. The predicted low temperature for Tuesday is 24 degrees, but for Wednesday it's predicted to fall to 12 degrees. {...}

Oh, yay. Can't hardly wait!

/sarcasm

Guess What I Did Saturday Afternoon?

Why, the husband and I took our neighbors---a family of Potter heads if there ever was one---to a preview screening of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

If you are interested, read on after the jump.

For some strange reason, the husband is on this company's mailing list. Methinks its wishful thinking, but who knows. Somehow he got on their mailing list and for years we've been getting mail from them. Usually their mailers go into the trash, because, quite honestly, do we look like fractional jet owners to you? But this time the husband opened it up and saw that they were inviting us to a preview screening of the latest Harry Potter. We figured we'd go and when we won the lottery we'd send some of that money NetJets way. And we will, too. We're all about keeping our word. We just need to win the lottery first.

So, feeling a wee bit like frauds, we walked over to the local movie theater (we didn't even have to drive anyplace!) with our neighbors, who we invited to come with us, and after noshing on free food and getting free sodas and popcorn for the flick, we settled in for the latest Harry Potter.

Anyway, a few observations about the movie, and in no particular order...

• The PG-13 rating is there for a reason. While I think a ten-year-old could probably handle it, I wouldn't let anyone under ten see this movie. It's very dark, and there are some disturbing themes. The least of which is Moaning Myrtle trying to get a look at Harry's junk when he's in the bath.
• I wished there would have been a wee bit more to the Quidditch World Cup. What they showed was cool, but it left you wanting more. Like an actual game.
• I enjoy how non-politically correct this world of wizards and witches is. I love that students are asked to put their names forth for a tournament in which they might die. How cool is that? I love how when Barty Crouch, Sr. says that Ministry of Magic is forbidding anyone under the age of seventeen from entering the kids complain. Also, it should be said that the movie doesn't pull any emotional punches, either. At the end of the tournament, when Harry returns with Cedric's body after his wand battle with Lord Voldemort, you felt how truly traumatizing the whole thing had been for Harry. I give credit to the director for showing the confusion and dismay of the scene and allowing it to progress to a natural conclusion. It was the right thing to do, even if it didn't produce the politically correct, kiddie-friendly scene that would have, perhaps, produced a PG -rating.
• Brendan Gleeson is wonderful as Mad Eye Moody. Just wonderful.
• And while we're on casting choices, Ralph Fiennes was an inspired choice for You Know Who. Highly evil and loving it.
• The husband and I rented Prisoner of Azkaban on Friday night, just to get up to date on things, and I have to say I was surprised at how much I like Michael Gambon as Dumbledore. He seems up for the challenge, where I always thought Richard Harris, while also very good, seemed like he was more of a thoughtful Dumbledore.
• Does Hogwarts have a hard time keeping a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, or what? These kids just aren't going to be able to defend against anything if this keeps up.
• Ben, our neighbor's son, said nothing crucial had been deleted in the conversion from the book to the movie. And he would know---he'd done a reread of all the books last week, you know, to get fired up for it. He was very pleased with it, on the whole, as were his parents. He didn't know, however, if he was going to tell his friends what the plot entailed. He'd told them he was going to see it, but he didn't know if he should spoil it for them if they asked.
• There was one very awkward cut during the Yule Ball sequence that had the husband and myself wondering if, since this was a preview screening, that they'd deliberately omitted it to spoof anyone who might have snuck a camera in. Not that anyone could have snuck in a camera---there was a security firm searching bags outside of the theater. I wasn't pleased when the guy asked me to open up my purse so he could take a look inside, but since I had a guest with me I wasn't going to raise a stink about it. If I hadn't, well, that would have been a different story: I don't care how much Warner Brothers is worried about piracy, this was a sales promotion geared to bring in new customers for NetJets---and they should know it's not a good idea to treat potential customers like thieves. Particularly not this set of potential customers, if you take my meaning.
• Alan Rickman makes excellent use of the word "regrettable" in one scene. He's always sooooo good.
• It's pretty obvious that puberty has hit the gang quite hard, although the kid who plays Ron might want to ease back on the weightlifting, because I have yet to see a fourteen-year-old with biceps like that. This is the first movie of the series where the much ballyhooed "age race" has made itself obvious.
• On the whole, it's yet another good Harry Potter film. Those who have read the books, I have been assured, will like it. And those who haven't will watch a film that's entertaining in its own right. I liked it, and I will say this much---this is the first Harry Potter film that's actually given me the itch to read the books, to see what's going to happen next, and it's the same with the husband.

And that's all she wrote, kids. If I think of anything else, I'll add on to the post. If you're not going to last until Friday and are desperate for information about something, throw your question in the comments and I'll do my best to answer it.

A Bitchslap Worthy of the Lady Catherine de Bourgh

Courtesy of Dearest Jonathan we have Anthony Lane's review of Pride and Prejudice from The New Yorker.

Two words describe it quite well: deliciously bitchy.

{...}What would Mr. Bennet make of the film? He would be left wondering, I suspect, why God gave him only two eyebrows to raise. Let us not even ponder the likely reactions of Lady Catherine de Bourgh (Judi Dench), Darcy’s glacier of an aunt, or those of Mr. Collins (Tom Hollander), the reverend munchkin who resides on Lady Catherine’s estate and slithers beneath her gaze. What they would find incomprehensible in the movie is not the storytelling, which charts with commendable briskness the motions of various hearts, but the prevailing mood. Who is this figure, complete with steed and flying cape, who canters through the dusky woods as if eager to get home before the moon turns him into a wolf? Why, it is our friend Mr. Darcy, who has just popped round to deliver a letter. What is the purpose of this tangerine glow that fills the screen? Has the movie taken an unheralded commercial break, in which tanning lotion is being hawked to the audience? No, this is the view from inside Lizzie’s closed eyelids on a sunny day. And whence this knocking at the door after dark, which brings the nightshirted Bennets downstairs with quivering candles? It is Lady Catherine, come to bawl and bark at Lizzie in a surprising reënactment of the drill-sergeant routine from “Full Metal Jacket.”

What has happened is perfectly clear: Jane Austen has been Brontëfied. In the book, Lady Catherine appears in daylight, “too early in the morning for visitors.” The film has rightly kept the hint of social insolence but switched the hour, so that the dramatic may be shaded and inked into melodrama. The question is not whether the director was justified in that transmutation but whether he had the choice; whether any of us, as moviemakers, viewers, or readers, retain the ability—not so much the scholarly equipment as the imaginative clairvoyance—to see Austen clearly. Maybe we are doomed to view her through the smoked glass of the intervening centuries, during which the spirit of romance, and the role of the body within it, have evolved out of all recognition. Why, when Lizzie accompanies her aunt and uncle to the Peak District of England, should the film take care to set her silent upon a peak, her dress and tresses stirring in the wind, if not to drop the clanging hint that Mr. Darcy is less an icy gentleman of means than a britches-busting Heathcliff in the making?{...}

Make sure you read the whole thing.

I have said it before, I will say it again: if you are watching any version of Pride and Prejudice other than this one, you are missing out. This is easily one of the best---if not the best---projects that television, let alone the Beeb, has ever produced. If you are one of those people who moans and groans about the liberties taken with books that are adapted for either the small or large screen, know that for once (!!!!) they finally stayed true to a book and did it up right. It's an adaptation truly worthy of the novel. The novel is, in my humble opinion, Austen's best, so it is quite perfect, in the scheme of that thing called universal justice, that such a great novel would have a worthy adaptation. This miniseries hit every note perfectly.

And besides, why would you want to see this stupid new version when it's pretty darn obvious that Matthew MacFayden can't carry the ruffles off like this guy can?

QED

Veteran's Day

And In the New World Record Department

Coo-el

LONDON - A Boeing Co. jet arrived in London from Hong Kong on Thursday, breaking the record for the longest nonstop flight by a commercial jet. The 777-200LR Worldliner — one of Boeing's newest planes — touched down shortly after 1 p.m. (8 a.m. EST) at London's Heathrow Airport after a journey of more than 13,422 miles. The previous record was set when a Boeing 747-400 flew 10,500 miles from London to Sydney in 1989.

A representative of Guinness World Records, which monitored the flight, presented Boeing's Lars Andersen with a certificate confirming it was for the longest nonstop commercial flight.

{...}The jet spent 22 hours and 43 minutes in the air.{...}

I find I must second the thoughts of my Maximum Leader on this topic: "Hey Airbus Industries! Stick that in your pipe and smoke it!"

Although, my God in heaven, that would be a really long time to spend on a plane. I sincerely hope they have a really good movie selection. It would probably help if they dedicated a few planes for smoking flights only. I can see where a smoker would get violent at twenty-two hours without nicotine.

Strange Bedfellows

So, do the ID proponents want to run the one about ID being "based in science" by me again? That offering a choice in evolution theories---that teaching ID in science classes alongside Darwin's Theory of Evolution---is actually not backdooring creationism into a biology class. Because, I have to tell you, that when the people on your side of the argument say stuff like this, I'm not apt to believe you.

VIRGINIA BEACH, Va. - Religious broadcaster Pat Robertson warned residents of a rural Pennsylvania town Thursday that disaster may strike there because they "voted God out of your city" by ousting school board members who favored teaching intelligent design.

All eight Dover, Pa., school board members up for re-election were defeated Tuesday after trying to introduce "intelligent design" — the belief that the universe is so complex that it must have been created by a higher power — as an alternative to the theory of evolution.

"I'd like to say to the good citizens of Dover: If there is a disaster in your area, don't turn to God. You just rejected him from your city," Robertson said on the Christian Broadcasting Network's "700 Club."{...}

Yeah, I know. It's Pat Robertson. But still...

On a somewhat related aside: is this Robertson's fourth smiting this year? Or is it his fifth? I've lost track.

The Boat That Shall Not Be Named

Doug and Mitch remind us that a big boat which I shall not name sank thirty years ago today in Lake Superior.

The Strib has a pretty cool section on said unnamed boat today, too.

I'm sure you're asking why I don't want to name the boat. Well, see, here's the thing: I'm a firm believer that Gordon Lightfoot is eviiiiilllll (as in "the d-evil made me do it") and if I name the damn boat, well, the song that details the tale of said big boat will start playing in my head and no one really needs that, right? Because I will start to go insane. I'll start sticking stuff in my ears to try and get the damn thing to get out. When that doesn't work, I will start playing Anthrax's and Public Enemy's version of "Bring the Noise" from Attack of the Killer B's at high volume to try and rid myself of Mr. Lightfoot. This will bring my very cool landlord upstairs to complain about the noise. I will start screaming at him that, no, I can't turn down the Anthrax because I need to either play this or slit my wrists because Gordon Lightfoot is possessing my ears. Given the fact that the landlord is just that much younger than I am and will probably have no idea who the hell Gordon Lightfoot is, he will call the Cake Eater police and will try to have me committed because he fears I'm a danger to myself and others.

So, I'm not naming that tune/boat, ya dig? Really. I'm sparing everyone the trouble.

Ramifications

The Kansas School Board had no idea what they were getting themselves into, did they?

Jeez

French network anchors have some serious cleavage, eh?

I wonder if it's part of the job requirement.

What Is Sexy?

And that, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, is the second time I've used that title for a Divas post. (You can find the first one here if you're interested in a Golden Oldie.) But it's an appropriate title and since I'm not feeling entirely too clever at the moment I decided to be lazy and use it. Sue me. Ahem. Anyway, the topic the Demystifiying Divas this week is {insert drumstickroll here}What constitutes sexy in a member of the opposite sex.

Oh, holy hell.

Well. since "sexy" has come to mean and encompass so many things over the years, I thought I'd get back to basics and go to the dictionary and see precisely what we're talking about here.

Ahem.

Courtesy of the Oxford Desk Dictionary and Thesaurus we have this definition...

Sexy: /seksee/ adj. (sexier, sexiest) 1.sexually attractive or stimulating. 2. sexually aroused

Ok, so basically we find out that I was wrong to go looking for an older, less relevant definition. Sexy is still about what gets you to think about getting your rocks off.

Now this, as you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, have undoubtedly figured out is a tricky proposition. Because there is the sexy that zeroes in exclusively on your hormones, and there is sexy that brings your brain---and by way of the way your body works, your hormones---into it. These need not be mutually exclusive, but sometimes they just are. Because sometimes you just don't want to bring your brain into it.

Ahem.

Anyway, you people are probably wondering when I'm going to get around to letting you know what you, if you're a man, can do to attract me in the non-brainy sort of way. Of course we're talking hypothetically here, because the husband wouldn't enjoy that. But...if we're just speaking for the sake of hypotheticals, and I were to ruminate on the physical variant of sexy---the one that gets the hormones to humming---without getting too specific, I would have to refer you to an experience I had on 1-35 in K.C. during the summer of 1994. You'd be a beautiful man, probably around 6'4", ripped, but not overly beefy, in a pair of basketball shorts---and nothing else---driving a Jeep Wrangler through eighty-five m.p.h. traffic. You'd also be very sweaty. A basketball would be sitting in the passenger seat of the jeep, the seatbelt lovingly holding it in place and saving the windshields of other cars from its wrath. Did I mention that this jeep only had a bikini top on it? I didn't? Well, it did. Did I also mention you would be cruising through traffic, like you were in search of a cold breeze and that jeep was going to find it for you? I didn't? Well, you did. It was, hypothetically speaking, one of those moments where I, quite literally, STOPPED BREATHING. And then the hormones started throbbing, like someone had hooked me up to a subwoofer.

Oh, and hypothetically speaking, I can still remember how good your abs looked. It was like you were cast, rather than born.

{Insert hypothetical fanning of self here}

Anyway I should probably let you know that if you were, indeed, hypothetical basketball playing dude, I would be pretty surprised if you could walk, talk and chew gum at the same time. My standards for you would not be very high. No sirreee. You'd have to know how to do one thing very well.

And that's about it. Anything else would be gravy.

Now we move on to the brain aspect of sexy, because, really and truly there is nothing quite so sexy, in my humble opinion, than a man with a big brain. While I will be honest and say I cannot handle an Einstein, I do appreciate men who have large I.Q's---so long as they don't turn the logic sword on me, the girl who has very little of it. I appreciate the man who can use that knowledge for the good of themselves and other people. I also appreciate a man who can make me laugh. Wit is very sexy---and anyone who says differently has no idea what they're talking about. I should also note that holding a great deal of common sense is sexy as well.

No, for my money, while it's all very well and good to stare at basketball players, those abs aren't going to keep a girl interested for very long. I shall also add that if one has a really great brain that will get the hormones to pumping just as effectively as a half-naked, sweaty basketball player in a Jeep Wrangler would.

Anyhoo, now that I've thoroughly humiliated myself, scoot along and see what the other daring and darling divas find sexy. Then you can pop over to Sheila's place because I'm sure she's got something worthwhile to add to the mix. The Men's Club is, of course, up to bat this week as well. Stiggy, Phin, The Foreign Minister and Jamesyboy have, of course, thrown their two cents in, as has Nugget.

Pride and Prejudice: "The Frisky Version"

One has to fight off the desire to put one's head in one's hands and weep copiously after reading this article regarding the new version of Pride and Prejudice.

Choice cuts that provoke the onset of weeping:

{...}But then, Wright {Ed. the director} was sent the script to Pride & Prejudice. "I read it in the pub one Sunday afternoon," he recalls, "and by about page 60, I was weeping into my pints of lager. And I was laughing out loud as well and surprised by that."

That's when Wright finally checked out the source material. "I read the novel and I was shocked by what an extraordinary piece of observation it was. How honest and truthful its writing was. I was also shocked by the ages of the characters (Elizabeth is 20 and Darcy is 28). It struck me that these were young people experiencing these emotions for the first time."{...}

He read it at the pub? Are you kidding me? You don't read a script for a Jane Austen movie at the pub! You prepare yourself a pot of tea, pull some biscuits out of a tin and put them on a plate, you settle yourself down in your garden and then you read it. The nerve of the man!

Never mind how you can get to thirty-three-years old and never have read Pride and Prejudice. Never mind the blatant cultural degeneracy that's on display here. That's apparently another complaint for another day.

{...}Wright went with the Darcy he saw in his head, a vulnerable young man with big responsibilities after the death of his parents who suffers from a lack of social graces. "He put on a suit of manhood that didn't quite fit him," he says, "and Elizabeth teaches him how to be a man."

A suit of manhood that didn't quite fit him? What in bleedin' hell are you talking about? Just because your adolescence was extended to your thirties doesn't mean that Darcy was afforded the same luxury. A lack of social graces? You must be joking? Seriously, now. No one can honestly say that Darcy lacked social graces. He was rich enough that the graces molded themselves around him, not the other way round. That's the way it was in those days---and is much the way it is today, still. That was one of the points that Austen was trying to make. Like, duh.

{...}"We had the Bennet giggle," says Knightley of the way she and the four actresses who played her sisters set the mood before each scene. "It's a high-pitched, screaming, chaotic monkey-like giggle that would get us into it. Joe wanted us to always speak over each other so you got the feeling of people who are so used to each other, they don't even listen anymore. I do think it will make it more accessible."

Jane and Lizzie spoke over the others? Now, Kitty, Lydia and Mrs. Bennet. I can understand these characters speaking over one another. But adding Jane and Lizzie to the shrill cacophany of the rest of the Bennets?

Ummm, no. That's just not going to fly.

{...}Most memorably, the movie replaces Elizabeth's view-altering tour of a portrait gallery inside Darcy's Pemberley estate with a stroll through a maze of alabaster nude sculptures, her eyes devouring their voluptuous beauty.

"I have an issue with the book, which a lot of people also have," Wright says. "Why is it, when Elizabeth goes to Pemberley, she finally accepts she likes Darcy? Is it because of his wealth? What I was hoping to achieve was a sense of her appreciating his cultural sensitivity."

Oh, for the love of all that is good and holy. It's not the house that changes Lizzie's mind about Darcy, you fools! Remember Wickham? Remember Wickham laying off a false story about Darcy on Lizzie, wherein Wickham was the hero and Darcy the villain? Remember Lizzie refusing Darcy's first proposal because she thought the story Wickham had fed her was true? Remember the letter Darcy sent Lizzie to set the record straight? Remember the housekeeper telling Lizzie a patently different tale about her master when she toured Pemberly with the Gardiners?

Lizzie's change of heart had nothing to do with the money. If her refusal didn't have anything to do with his wealth, why would her acceptance be any different? Furthermore, this is business about "her appreciating his cultural sensitivity" is complete and utter rot. And I can prove it.

"Elizabeth's mind was too full for conversation, but she saw and admired every remarkable spot and point of view. They gradually ascended for half a mile, and then found themselves at the top of a considerable eminence, where the wood ceased, and the eye was instantly caught by Pemberley House, situatied on the opposite side of the valley, into which the road with some abruptness wound. It was a large, handsome, stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills;---and in front, a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. Its banks were neither formal, nor falsely adorned. Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. They awere all of them so warm in their admiration; and at that moment she felt that to be mistress of Pemberly might be something!

{...}The housekeeper came; a respectable-looking, elderly woman, much less fine, and more civil, than she had any notion of finding her. They followed her into the dining-parlour. It was a large, well-proportioned room, handsomely fitted up. Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it, went to a window to enjoy its prospect. The hill, crowned with wood, from which they had descended, receiving increased abruptness from the distance, was a beautiful object. Every disposition of the ground was good; and she looked on the whole scene, the river, the trees scattered on its banks, and the winding of the valley, as far as she could trace it, with delight. As they passed into other rooms, these objects were taking different positions; but from every window there were beauties to be seen. The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their furniture suitable to the fortune of their proprietor; but Elizabeth saw, with admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine; with less of spendor and more real elegance, than the furniture of Rosings.{...}

---Chapter 45, Pride and Prejudice

Given this passage, it's apparent that Darcy would sooner have a gallery of nude sculptures on the grounds of Pemberly as Jimmy Carter would welcome a bunny rabbit into his house.

And then we come to the real problem I have with this article:

The one picture they include of Colin Firth isn't anywhere as good as this one.

CNN's Premature Gravitas

Anderson Cooper:

{...}Going gray is like ejaculation. You know it can happen prematurely, but when it actually does, it's a total shock.{...}

I don't know about you, but I feel so much better about the future of CNN!

{Hat tip: Steve-o}

Odds and Sods

Here's a roundup of linkies I, like a drunken air traffic controller, am sending you off to...

• It's Cotillion Tuesday, so shuffle on over to Not A Desperate Houswife's place and read.
• Phin's perversion is on the same wavelength as mine. I've been waiting for someone to point this out. Thank God Phin saved us all by bothering to post that observation.

  And while you're over at Phin's, make sure you read this post regarding Operation Enduring Service, which is a plan to save a few Fulton Class ships from obsolesence for use in hurricane relief efforts. Calls and emails to senators and congresspeople are required. Shuffle along and do some good. You owe it to Phin as he made the Paris Hilton observation.

• And while we're talking about doing good, because you know you were bad last weekend and are feeling the need to atone, Soldiers Angels is participating in a fundraising drive for Project Valour-IT, which is, according to the email I received last week (my bad) :

  Project Valour-IT, in memory of SFC William V. Ziegenfuss, provides voice-controlled software and laptop computers to wounded Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines recovering from hand and arm injuries or amputations at major military medical centers. Operating laptops by speaking into a microphone, our wounded heroes are able to send and receive messages from friends and loved ones, surf the 'Net, and communicate with buddies still in the field without having to press a key or move a mouse. The experience of CPT Charles "Chuck" Ziegenfuss, a partner in the project who suffered hand wounds while serving in Iraq, illustrates how important this voice-controlled software can be to a wounded servicemember's recovery.

  A worthy cause, no?

  Go here and donate what you can.

• Everyone's favorite commie pinko will be giving away prizes to the millionth visitor to his blog. Perhaps you could win something. I hear they're good, too. No free cars, but free stuff is free stuff, right? A can of silly string is just as good as a Mercedes covertible. RUSH RIGHT OVER, YA HEAR AND WISH HIM WELL. and no he's not really handing out prizes. I just felt the need to make his life difficult.

That should do it for me. If you have something you'd like to promote (other than dissertations on penis/breast enhancement and the like) throw it into the comments.

We've Arrived in Hell and the Handbasket's En Fuego

Steve-o's going to be on tee vee this evening.

Doing election analysis.

RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!

Rare

As in it's oh-so-bloody-rare when I call things accurately, but guess what? I GOT ONE RIGHT!

Lawyers are preparing themselves for a little of that Class Action bizness against Sony BMG.

Sony rightly came under fire last week from programmers and Internet users for injecting an undetectable copy-prevention utility into Microsoft Windows when certain CDs are inserted.

Now the lawyers are taking aim, too. Robert Green, a partner at the San Francisco firm of Green Welling, says he's readying a class action lawsuit against Sony.

"We're still investigating the case and talking to different people about what happened to them," Green said on Friday. He plans to argue that under California law, if you buy a copy-protected CD from a music store, you should be informed that a spyware-like utility will be implanted on your hard drive.

{...}Still, it may be too late for the entertainment giant to fend off the plaintiff's bar. One recent court case in Illinois, Soleto v. DirectRevenue, sets a nonbinding precedent that lawyers expect to be invoked against Sony.

In that case, DirectRevenue was sued for installing spyware on Windows computers without obtaining proper authorization from a user. U.S. District Judge Robert Gettleman said the company could be sued on trespass, Illinois consumer fraud, negligence, and computer tampering grounds.

Then there's a California spyware-related law that says a company may not "induce" anyone to "install a software component" by claiming installation is necessary to "open, view or play a particular type of content."

Translation: Sony could be in double trouble. Its Windows software is hardly necessary to play music--the disc works just fine on a Macintosh or in an old-fashioned CD player.{...}

But wait, it gets better. It turns out the average joe user might be violating the DMCA (Digital Millenium Copyright Act) when they try to remove Sony's Rootkit from their machine:

{...}In a bizarre twist, though, it's not only Sony that could be facing a legal migraine. So could anyone who tries to rid their computer of Sony's hidden anticopying program.

That's because of Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, which bans the "circumvention" of anticopying technology.

"I think it's pretty clear that circumventing Sony's controls violates the DMCA," says Tim Wu, a Columbia University professor who teaches copyright law. {...}

Wu noted that one possible reprieve might come from last year's ruling from a federal appeals court in a case dealing with garage door openers--it said no copyright violations were taking place, so no DMCA violation occurred. Then again, another federal appeals court objected to bypassing anticopying technology used in DVDs, which is probably a closer analogy. {...}

This whole situation, to put it mildly, is fucked up.

You have to love how Sony's spinning it, too.

{...}After taking issue with anyone using the terms "spyware, malware or rootkit," Thomas Hesse, President of Sony's Global Digital Business, literally says: "Most people, I think, don't even know what a rootkit is, so why should they care about it?"{...}

{my emphasis}

I believe the Brits would call that "cheek."

Letting Her Down Easy

Tommy Boy has fired his publicist---his sister.

LOS ANGELES - Tom Cruise has replaced his sister with a Hollywood insider as chief handler of his publicity.

The 43-year-old actor hired veteran publicist Paul Bloch, who's also a co-chairman for publicity firm Rogers & Cowan, according to the Daily Variety trade paper. Bloch also will oversee publicity for the actor's production company Cruise-Wagner Productions.

Bloch replaces Cruise's sister, Lee Anne DeVette, who took over as his publicist in March 2004 after he left longtime representative Pat Kingsley.

"Lee Anne has done a wonderful job on behalf of myself and Cruise-Wagner Productions over the last few years," Cruise said in a statement. "But she has always expressed a desire to oversee and expand the day-to-day activities of my charitable endeavors."{...}

Tommy Boy might think that he's letting his sister down easy here, but let's face facts: she may be overseeing his charitable excursions, but he just shitcanned her. For being a "yes" woman. For letting him do exactly what he wanted to do.

That's just cold. Brrrrrrr.

So much for sibling love, eh?

Yeah, But I've Got Better Legs than Russell Crowe

You scored as Maximus. After his family was murdered by the evil emperor Commodus, the great Roman general Maximus went into hiding to avoid Commodus's assassins. He became a gladiator, hoping to dominate the colosseum in order to one day get the chance of killing Commodus. Maximus is valiant, courageous, and dedicated. He wants nothing more than the chance to avenge his family, but his temper often gets the better of him. Maximus 83% James Bond, Agent 007 79% Batman, the Dark Knight 71% Lara Croft 71% Neo, the "One" 67% Indiana Jones 63% El Zorro 63% William Wallace 58% Captain Jack Sparrow 58% The Terminator 54% The Amazing Spider-Man 46% Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0 created with QuizFarm.com

Courtesy of Robbo

Required Reading

Martini Boy.

Now, shoo.

I Get My Thing In Action

And I don't even know my power.

That's all. Move along. Nothing more to see here.

That's Gonna Leave a Mark

Dearest Jonathan bitchslaps Sully over a pair of gay cowboys.

Don't ask. Just go and read.

I Need a Boy Scout

Ummm, I have a serious question about flag burning that only a Boy Scout can answer.

Ahem

I have a United States flag that needs to be dispatched to the Great Beyond. I know the proper way to dispose of an American flag is to burn it. But...

Would it be really disrespectful of me to use lighter fluid to get said flag to burn?

I am completely serious. Help me out here, kids. We never covered this stuff in Girl Scouts.

Grownups Rule!

Whilst reviewing The Weather Man Sheila hits a home run:

{...}There are those of us in America who like films about GROWN UPS, mkay? Who, yes, LOVE films like Blue Crush (heh heh). But who also want films that are a bit more unforgiving. A bit more brutal. Not feel-good romantic comedies. But movies about LIFE, and life's STRUGGLES. In the 70s, studios did not feel the need to APOLOGIZE for such movies - the way Paramount is pretty much apologizing for The Weather Man right now.

Less and less in our culture, is there a space for GROWN-UPS. I'm fucking sick of it, frankly. I don't have kids. I resent having the public sphere geared more and more towards the rated G crowd. I resent having movies be dummed down so a certain demographic will go see it. I'm an ADULT and my money is ALSO worth something in this country, mkay? And there are those out there (I know many of them) who have kids but who don't expect the entire fucking world to be G-rated just because they have children.

That's why when films like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind do well ... especially in the midst of a year where pretty much every big "blockbuster" TANKED ... I just feel so happy about it. So gleeful. The fact that Napoleon Dynamite and March of the fucking Penguins made ENORMOUS profits (compared to the cost of making the films) - while the big blockbusters hemorrhaged money and didn't make it back ... just make me want to clap my hands in vengeful glee.

The Weather Man is depressing. But I actually don't find that to be a strike against it. There are many audience members out there like me ... who do not say "it's depressing" as a warning. It's just a fact.

He is having a midlife crisis. He wants his father's approval. He feels like he has lost touch with his kids. Things are BAD, man.

What - such movies shouldn't be made? Or if we are, we should apologize for them? Or try to trick people into thinking it's a comedy through advertising?{...}

Yes, yes, yes, shrieks Kathy, loudly.

It's been quite disconcerting to become a grown-up. As a kid, whenever I was disappointed that I'd been overruled, which happened often, I would express the wish that I wanted to grow-up, so I could make my own decisions. Here's a question for the children of today: do they even want to grow-up? Because, the way I see it, they've got the world on a string already; becoming an adult would end their world domination. I looked forward to becoming a grownup because grownups got to have all the fun; they called the shots; everything was made for grownups. We children were seen, but not heard. Nowadays everything is made for children because---and haven't we all heard this one before?---the world tilted on its axis the day my child was born. I've never loved anyone so much as I love my child. I don't know how I ever lived before they came along. My life has completely changed for the better!

There's a reason why I bolded all of those pronouns. It's to highlight the parental vanity that is so annoyingly common these days. And that's what this focus on children is a result of: parental vanity. Because as much as I'd like to lay it off on the wee brats, they're not the ones at fault. It's the parents who are to blame for the idea that the world should be one big G-Rated ride on Magic Mountain. How many times have you heard one of those phrases come from an adult's mouth? Did said parent say it with a breathless certainty that they, indeed, were the first people to ever give birth in this world? That they were, indeed, the first people, out of billions, to ever truly get the feeling of love of their child down right? I don't know what the deal is, but there are so many people nowadays who are certain that the most important thing they will ever do is have and raise children. This may be indeed be true. But this doesn't mean the rest of the world agrees with the idea that the world should revolve around their children.

Quivering Abs

Once upon a time, in a state far, far away called Iowa, I was what is typically called a process server. The quick and dirty definition of process serving is that I served lawsuits on people. I was a cheaper and quicker alternative to the Polk County Sherrif's office, who charged an arm and a leg for the same service and who took their sweet time about it. Pretty simple stuff, but I wasn't real popular, if you get my drift.

Anyway, one time I had to serve papers on Menards. It was my habit to read the petition and the accompanying paperwork, just to know what I was walking into. A woman was suing Menards on behalf of herself and on behalf of her son, because Iowa has that crazy "loss of consortium" rule, wherein your family can be co-plaintiffs on a lawsuit you file because you were less of a family member to them. Anyway, I read the lawsuit and I started laughing, because it was one of those banana peel lawsuits---but not in the way you think. It was a banana peel lawsuit because if you trip and fall on a banana peel, it's funny; if I tripped and fell on a banana peel, it's tragedy---hence I can sue for damages. This woman, undoubtedly, thought that being hit by a falling doghouse was a tragedy. It's got all the makings of one, right? She was walking through her local Menards, her young son walking alongside her, minding her own business, when---WHAMMO!---from out of nowhere, a doghouse that was hanging from the ceiling for display purposes breaks loose of its chains and falls on her. That would be a tragedy, wouldn't it?

I suppose most people would find that a horrifying tragedy. Unless you're me, however. In which case it's damn fine comedy. And you have to hold the laughter in as you serve the paperwork. Because it wouldn't be professional to laugh. Or to join in the laughter of the people you just served when they start giggling. It's just horrible. And your abs quiver horribly under the strain of holding the laughter in, ulitmately straining muscles you didn't know you had,

So, it should be said that I have nothing but sympathy for the process server who had to serve the papers on Home Depot for this little debacle.

Hand

It's Thursday, so you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, know what that means: another riveting installment of the Demistifying Divas and Marvy Men's Club.

While I generally loathe anything and everything to do with Seinfeld (it wasn't that funny, kids. It really wasn't.), one of the few episodes I actually remember watching was the "hand" episode. What they were discussing over their table at the coffee shop was having "the upper hand" in a situation, but it being kitschy little Seinfeld, they had to shorten it to "hand." Wherein it became something everyone chatted about over the water cooler on some random Friday morning in the mid-1990's. Furthermore, that's when it came to annoy me. (And I should just warn you now that I'm not going to tie this string up later with some clever little throwaway line. It's just not going to happen. The only reason I included this bit in the first place was to get warmed up. This warm-up, of course, had the added benefit of being able to bitch about Seinfeld: what's not to like?)

So, the question searing the gray matter this morning is who has "hand" during the various stages of a couple's relationship? Who's got hand during the dating portion, and who's got it after marriage?

Now, to be sure, this question presumes one thing: that men and women are not on equal footing throughout the course of their relationships. And I would think that's true. Unless the wants and needs are exactly the same, I don't think you'll ever have true equality, and men and women most definitely want different things. Men, when they're dating want sex with one woman. Then they'll want sex with another woman. Then they'll want to take a nap. Then they might scratch their crotch a bit and declare their desire to have sex with another woman, right after they've polished off that leftover pizza in the fridge, etc. Women, on the other hand, want a relationship; they want to settle down, get married, make a home and maybe have babies. But they only want to do this with one man. Inequality. Because many are greater than one, M>1, women do not have "hand" whilst dating.

But, invariably, something happens to the average man, somewhere along the way, and he wants to have sex with only one woman. This something is generally called "love." Or in the rare case of cynicism it's called "I'm tired of catting around." Either way, the man settles down with one woman and---presto change-o!---the power balance has switched. The woman now has "hand" because a man's libido doesn't change when he settles down; all that sex he was having with many women he now wants to have with one woman. And, because of that, that one woman holds the keys to the kingdom. The woman has acquired "hand."

So, you're undoubtedly thinking, But, Kath, it can't really come right down to sex and who's willing to put out? Well, no, it doesn't. Not entirely, but I think that sex makes up a goodly chunk of what's going on there, eh? The need to get laid and to reproduce is strong. You'd never underestimate The Force, would you? Well, don't underestimate the need to get laid, ya dig?

And therein lies my opinion on the matter. For other fabulous Diva-y takes go and visit Silk and Phoenix. Rumor has it that Sadie will be back next week. (Woohoo!) Our guest diva this week is one of the newest members of the fold, Paula of Ultrablog. Make sure you go over and bid her welcome. For the XY Chromosomed view, shuffle along and read what Phinny, Stiggy, Jamesy, and whichever one of the Naked Villains has chimed in this week. The guest men's club member this week is Tea Fizz, so hopscotch on over and read what he's written on the matter.

UPDATE: The Wiz has decided to grace us with his presence this week. Go and read.

Is There a Lawyer in the House?

Yeah, I know half of my audience is seemingly made up of members of the legal profession, so I would like to ask y'all what your opinion is on this bit of joy.

{...}The issue erupted into the public consciousness late on Monday, when computer developer and author Mark Russinovich published a blog detailing how he had found the First 4 Internet software hiding deep in his computer, after he had listened to a copy-protected CD distributed by Sony BMG.

The anticopying technology included a tool called a "rootkit," often used by virus writers. A rootkit takes partial control of a computer's operating system at a very deep level in order to hide the presence of files or ongoing processes.

Rootkits, while not intrinsically malicious, are viewed with deep suspicion by many in the software development community. They are extraordinarily difficult to find and remove without specific instructions, and attempts to modify the way they act can even damage the normal functioning of a computer.

In the case of the First 4 Internet software, attempts to remove it manually rendered the CD drive of the computer inoperable, Russinovich found.

Several antivirus companies followed Russinovich's news with warnings that the First 4 Internet tools could let virus writers hide malicious software on computers, if the coders piggybacked on the file-cloaking functions. {...}

To sum up: Sony BMG put this rootkit software on their music CD's as a part of their "digital rights management" program. The upshot of this is that if you play a Sony CD on your computer, it will install this software on your computer. As the husband says, "Hackers install rootkits because they can hide them from the Windows API, meaning that any anti-virus or any anti-spyware program that is running within Windows won't be able to see it." So, this is sneaky software that is designed to do sneaky things. According to the article, if you tried to remove the rootkit software, it rendered your CD drive inoperable.

Keep in mind that this is your computer system Sony thinks it has a right to install this sneaky software onto. It doesn't matter to them if you're trying to copy their CD's or not. You could, conceivably, just be listening to a CD on your computer, and if you have some knowledge of how these things work and you found the rootkit, if you tried to remove it, said rootkit will instruct your CD drive not to run.

And this all because you listened to a Sony BMG music CD on your computer.

Now, some bright soul pointed out to Sony that this rootkit debacle opens up people's computers to black hat hackers---people who would do damage to you and your system. What's even worse about this situation is that if, per chance, you were infected with a virus via this rootkit hole on your machine, your anti-virus software wouldn't recognize the fact you have a virus. It would be flying under the radar because it came in through a hole that's under the radar. Sony's bright idea to solve this problem is to release a patch. They think the software should remain on people's machines; that they have a right to install software on your machine without your knowledge to damage your equipment if you do something they don't like---like try to remove software they installed.

This is just astonishing that Sony thinks they can get away with this sort of thing. This is the equivalent of a contractor smashing a hole in the wall of your house and then handing you a piece of plastic and some duct tape to fix it, and then claiming that this should do the trick and you should be warm and dry in the middle of January.

Which, I think we can all agree, is bullshit.

Now here's the question for the lawyers in the house: one would think that Sony would be in big trouble legally for this stunt. Are they? This just reeks of a Class Action suit to me...but I'm no lawyer. Universal Music has subscribed to rootkits, too.

{Hat Tip: Tech Dirt}

Things That Are Irritating Me: The November 2, 2005 Edition

Ahem.

• Leftover Halloween candy. Yes, I know, how could I possibly be peeved by leftover Halloween candy? That's just wrong. Well, believe you me, I can be peeved by it because there are no tootsie pops in the bowl. There's a lot of chocolate, provided by Hersheys and Reese's. There's also Sweettarts. But there's no tootsie pops.

  Did I mention that we only had two trick-or-treaters? So we have shedloads of candy left?

  This is what happens when you send the husband out to buy candy. He forgets the tootsie pops and he buys too much of everything else.

  Sheesh.

• The obnoxious Cake Eater neighbor bought his sixteen-year-old kid a Beetle. It's used, but it's only two years old, so it ain't that used.

  Whatever happened to sixteen-year-olds being forced to drive 1973 Monte Carlos? Does that happen anywhere anymore? Why on earth should a sixteen-year-old get a nice car, eh? Explain that one to me, would you? And don't give me that excuse about newer cars being safer and these parents are just protecting their precious little brats. Bullshit. Kids are awful drivers, hence they deserve a car that is built out of steel and will survive a wreck---unlike a Beetle, which is made out of plastic and will, I have a feeling, disintegrate at the first tap of an opposing fender. So what if the old Monte Carlo doesn't have airbags? A whopping case of whiplash is just what a kid needs to learn to slow the fuck down.

  None of which, of course, covers the long forgotten Presidential directive laid out in the second Nixon Administration that decrees sixteen-year-olds should not be driving cars that are nicer than those their elders drive.

• My 35th birthday is sometime this week. And, yes, really that's peeving me.
• I sprained my ankle last week and while it's turning a spectacular shade of blue, it's still swollen to fuck-all levels. HEAL, motherfucker!
• I was supposed to earn some spare Christmas money next week and that opportunity just got shot out of the water.
• I have to go clean out the pantry. This is one of my least favorite things to do, but it must be done because, well, there's just no frickin' space to move around in there right now.
• I've been savoring this novel for the past week. And while it's so much better than the one that came before, I have to ask: does Diana Gabaldon have a freakin' copy editor? The reason I ask is...

  BECAUSE THE CONTINUITY ERRORS ARE DRIVING ME UP THE GODDAMN WALL!

  I'm not going to list all the errors I've found here, because I'm not done with the book yet and I will undoubtedly have more to say about it later on. But there are some pretty goddamn basic errors in this book that should have had alarm bells ringing at the publishing company. That they didn't ring bells---and actually made it into print, for Godsakes, well, this tells me that something is not quite right.

And there you have it, kids. Now I'm off to clean out the pantry.

UPDATE 11-03-05 One more to add to the list. Ahem. I am irritated that Steve-o spelled my name with a 'C'.

Waaaaaaaaaaah.

It's like he never knew me at all.

Best. Headline. Ever.

"Greenpeace to pay fine for damaging coral reef
Environmental group blames charts after ship hits Philippines site"

{Insert much laughing, rolling around on the floor, and tears flowing down my face here}

{Hat Tip: The Kid}

Truth on Tap

Oh so frickin' true.*

I used to think that if all else failed, I could hire myself out as a guide to people from Wayzata and Edina who were trying to get to a show at the Orway or Rivercenter or the Civic, in downtown Saint Paul.

For those of you from outside the Twin Cities, Saint Paul is traditionally a mystery to people from Minneapolis. Mark Twain once said "Saint Paul is the last city of the east, and Minneapolis is the first city of the west", and it certainly shows in their street grids;{...}

I would have hired you, Mitch.

I hate driving in St. Paul. It's screwed up. I always used to chalk it up it up to it being a river town, but I realized a few years ago, no, that's not it. You can have a river town that's logically organized. I should know; I grew up in one. St. Paul defies normal city planning convention and it leads to sweaty palms and many shouted "Where the hell am I going?"'s whenever I get behind the wheel of an automobile to venture over to the capitol city. Which isn't very often because the whole experience can be quite offputting. But hockey is over there, so if I had more hockey tickets, I suppose I could be bribed into getting used to it. (Hint, hint)

*Note to the Cake Eater Sister: See? I'm not the only one!

Dance on Over

...to Portia Rediscovered for the best and brightest of the XX-chromosomed bloggers.

Summing It Up

Woody Allen on his relationship with Soon Yi Previn:

{...}"It's got a more paternal feeling to it," the reclusive director tells Vanity Fair of his once-scandalous romance.{...}

Summed up in one word: eeeeeeeeeeew

Riots

Fausta has put together an excellent roundup relating to the rioting in Paris and Birmingham.

Go enlighten yourselves.

And then start worrying that the toll of post-modernist sin has come due.

Famous Last Words

Sheila has some fascinating ones for you to read.

Average American?

Well, I wouldn't like to think I was average at anything, but we shall have to see if that is true. The theory behind this meme I stole from you know who is that these are things that the average American does or has. I've struck the ones that do not apply.

• Eats peanut butter at least once a week
• Prefers smooth peanut butter over chunky- well, doesn't everyone?
• Can name all Three Stooges- yeah, but it's not like I enjoy having that information rattling around in my brain.
• Lives within a 20-minute drive of a Wal-Mart -Without traffic. If it's at rush hour, well, it's off 494 by the Mall of Gomorrah and it's a bitch to get to. Besides, it's located in the hood and you'd have to pay me serious money to go there.
• Eats at McDonald’s at least once a year-I would say that's probably about right. The only time we ever eat at McDonalds is when we're roadtripping somewhere. When the husband and I lived in Des Moines, because it wasn't a bustling Metropolis, we left town for the weekend quite a bit. Des Moines is intersected by I-35, which goes north-south, and I-80, which runs east-west. As a result of our constant mid-90's roadtrips, I am able to tell you, in every direction on those two interstates, where every McDonald's is located.
• Takes a shower for approximately 10.4 minutes a day- If not longer because I'm doing super secret GIRL stuff in the shower.
• Never sings in the shower

• Lives in a house, not an apartment or condominium I wish this weren't the case.
• Has a home valued between $100,000 and $300,000
• Has fired a gun- Don't want to, either, because they scare the hell out of me. That doesn't mean I'm going to begrudge someone else, though.
• Is between 5 feet and 6 feet tall- -5'6"

• Weighs 135 to 205 pounds -like I'm going to announce that on the internet. Pfft. We'll just say it's closer to the lower end of the scale.
• Is between the ages of 18 and 53
• Believes gambling is an acceptable entertainment option- but surprisingly enough, I have absolutely NO desire to rush right off to Vegas
• Grew up within 50 miles of current home-it's a little over 400 miles away