I couldn't think of a better way to celebrate New Year's Eve than with a mad and wonderful rendition of Auld Lang Syne, a traditional Scottish song, performed by a German band. I mean, it sort of makes perfect nonsense for Shakesville.
Last night found M and I at the house of a friend, a minister, along with another couple who were long-time friends of the hostess. It was a warm and congenial evening in a comfortable room with a wood fire, a brightly decorated Christmas tree, a sleepy cat, good company.
At one point, the husband in the other couple paused to answer his cell phone. He listened for a bit, then spoke briefly before hanging up. He looked up at us.
"They hung Saddam," he said.
We were silent for a moment, but only for a moment. We remarked on how the timing of the execution was at once both a surprise and completely expected; we agreed that Saddam's death would change nothing substantially in Iraq and would likely provoke a short-term spike in violence; we argued over the degree of culpability that individual American citizens, folks like ourselves, might feel regarding the execution in particular or the Iraq debacle in general. It was the kind of conversation that was doubtless repeated million of times elsewhere, and so was not terribly unique in that respect. I don't think any minds among us were changed last night regarding America in Iraq, and that probably was likely reflected elsewhere as well and so is not very remarkable.
The discontinuity between the news of Saddam's hanging and the warmth and humanity of the holidays - the season of light, as they say - did strike me then, however, and resonates with me now as a perfect exemplar of what George Bush has done of his own choice and for his ends but in your name and in mine.
It seems to me that if the president had tried consciously and with all his effort to get it precisely wrong in Iraq, in both essence and in form, he could not do better (or is it worse?) than he has done to this point.
Mission accomplished, I guess.
(Cross-posted.)
Really, it does. Or so say its creators, Ray Comfort and Kirk Cameron. What is "it"? It is a new game called "Intelligent Design Versus Evolution". You see, it really, really makes you use your brain as evidenced by this statement from Cameron:
"We are very excited about this game because it presents both sides of the creation evolution argument, and in doing so, shows that the contemporary theory of evolution is perhaps the greatest hoax of modern times."
"Intelligent Design Versus Evolution' is unique in that the playing pieces are small rubber brains. We used the brains because we want players to use their brains. The incentive is to play for 'brain' cards, and the team or individual with the most brains wins. There are brains all over the game, because we want to make people think deeply about what they believe.
"This is because the average person doesn't know that the evolutionist lives by a blind faith in an unscientific theory (a theory that one scientist called a 'fairy-tale for grown-ups'). Through the game we show the irrational nature of evolution, using their own beliefs and quotes. This explains why evolutionists have a special language, something we call 'the language of speculation,' where they use words like 'We believe, perhaps, probably, maybe, could have …"
[...]
If, in fact, evolution would be the truth, there would have to be evidences of some sort of those transitions, such as a sheepdog, pupling, or bullfrog.[pictured above, as it is in the game--Misty]
The game also comes with a free award-winning DVD called "The Science of Evolution," in which Comfort and Cameron take an orangutan to lunch and discuss the theory of evolution.
Al Hurra reports that Saddam has been executed.
UPDATE: Posting at The Washington Monthly, Steve Benen points to Josh Marshall's analysis, which Steve calls "the most accurate and poignant I've seen," and I totally agree:
This whole endeavor, from the very start, has been about taking tawdry, cheap acts and dressing them up in a papier-mache grandeur -- phony victory celebrations, ersatz democratization, reconstruction headed up by toadies, con artists and grifters. And this is no different. Hanging Saddam is easy. It's a job, for once, that these folks can actually see through to completion. So this execution, ironically and pathetically, becomes a stand-in for the failures, incompetence and general betrayal of country on every other front that President Bush has brought us.And I'm not even sure that this is "getting it right." Leaving aside any debate about the ethics of capital punishment for a moment, I'm not remotely convinced that turning Hussein into a martyr to satiate our need for vengeance is the wisest strategic decision in the long run. In my estimation, there was every reason to lock him up and throw away the key, and, beyond that, little about which to be certain. And death is well fucking certain.
...This is what we're reduced to, what the president has reduced us to. This is the best we can do. Hang Saddam Hussein because there's nothing else this president can get right.
Supposedly. Witnesses are gathering in the Green Zone and footage of his crimes is being broadcast on television in preparation of the big event.
A top Iraqi official said Saddam will be executed before 10 p.m. EST Friday.Mmm, always good to show how things have changed by using the same accoutrements of death while executing their architect.
The Iraqi government readied all the necessary documents, including a "red card" — an execution order introduced during Saddam's dictatorship.
The physical transfer of Saddam from U.S. to Iraqi authorities was believed to be one of the last steps before he was to be hanged.And the last thing we'd want is to be blamed for causing trouble in the Middle East.
"We have agreed with the Americans that the handover will take place only a few minutes before he is executed," a senior Iraqi government official said on condition of anonymity because he is not authorized to speak to the media.
…"The Americans want him to be hanged respectfully," [Najeeb al-Nueimi, a member of Saddam's legal team] said. If Saddam is humiliated publicly or his corpse ill-treated "that could cause an uprising and the Americans would be blamed," he said.
President Bush and first lady Laura Bush were moved to an armored vehicle on their ranch Friday when a tornado warning was issued in central Texas, the White House said.Reached for comment, President Bush was quoted as saying, "Dagnabbit! I was hopin' for a ternadah. Them things leave me all kinds of brush that needs clearing."
The vehicle was driven to a tornado shelter on the ranch, and the president, Mrs. Bush and their two dogs sat inside until the weather cleared, deputy White House press secretary Scott Stanzel said. They were never moved into the shelter, he said.
For Crimbo, I received from the residents of Parental Manor the first two seasons of The (American) Office on DVD, which I've spent inordinate amounts of time watching the past few days. I have a massive crush on Jim and Pam, whose love-charged friendship, forged in raging flames of shared silly, feels wonderfully familiar to me. And I am hopelessly mad for Steve Carell, who's the whole reason I tuned in in the first place. Everyone else on the show is fantastic, too—there's not a single character I don't adore—but I have a particular fondness for Dwight K. Schrute, a brilliantly realized archetype whom Rainn Wilson (the actor who plays him) describes so aptly as "a fascist nerd."
Everyone has known a Dwight K. Schrute, whose natural habitats are mid-level corporate administration, paint-ball courses, and condo associations. His bizarre combination of excruciating bombast and naïve ignorance makes him at once a first-class annoyance and a uniquely harassable target if you're up for that sort of thing. If you're not, you avoid him. Either way, you immediately feel sorry for his future children at any hint of his potential to reproduce. And while other coworkers, neighbors, association members, etc. will come and go leaving no lasting imprint upon your memory, you'll never forget your Dwight K. Schrute and will tell stories about him for years—and the only people who will believe he existed in precise measure as you describe are the people who have already met their own.
Or know him from a distance.
Anyhow, in honor of Dwight K. Schrute having brought me much laughter over the past few days, I shall borrow this tribute to his superior magnetism to honor him. Slainte Mhath, Dwight!
Before attempting to remove the splinter from another nation's eye, we might consider addressing the two-by-four that's lodged in our own.
So they're going to hang Saddam Hussein. American talking heads, for the most part, give the impression that they believe justice is being served. And the comments around my house aren't much different: Commit a crime; face the time.
Still, you can't help but notice that American Justice and its entourage, media whores all, have had a little work done since the seventies. When President Ford pardoned Richard Nixon all those years ago, the notion of Justice, or Justice For All, anyway, underwent some shape-shifting. From HuffPo contributor Jonathan Tasini:
I think it is a fair argument to make that had Nixon been convicted and served a prison term--as he should have--the Iraq war might never have happened--and hundreds of thousands of people would not have died, we would not have squandered as much as $2 trillion on an insane war and we would not have opened up a huge rift in our relations around the world. Is it not likely and plausible that, with the precedent of a Nixon conviction and imprisonment very much branded in the consciousness of our elected leaders, the current president and vice president (particularly the latter who worked in the Ford presidency) might have paused for a moment, in their improper, fallacious and illegal pursuit of an immoral war and the evisceration of our civil liberties, to ponder whether they were committing acts that might land them in jail? Given the individuals, I'll concede that perhaps nothing would have deterred them from committing impeachable offenses, that in the words of the House, were "subversive of constitutional government," caused "great prejudice to the cause of law and justice" and brought "manifest injury to the people of the United States."
We can undo some of the damage that the Nixon pardon caused. And that task must be taken up by the incoming Democratic majority. Incoming Speaker Pelosi and incoming Majority Leader Reid, if you continue to refuse to hold the current Administration accountable, as set forth in our Constitution, for the breaking of our laws and the violation of their sworn oaths, you will only be prolonging our national nightmare for years and possible generations to come. Future presidents will not hesitate to repeat the behavior of the Nixon and Bush Administrations because they will see our track record--our unwillingness to hold our elected leaders accountable for laws they violate. Based on lies that they will cloak in their own justification and without the proper Constitutional authority, future presidents will embark on wars that will kill countless more young men and women.
"You don't have to have a political doctorate in Political Science to realize it's never a good sign when you're outpolled by Lucifer." — Joe Scarborough, commenting on the AP poll in which Bush was named the "Top Villain of 2006."
Greetings and salutations, Shakers! Allow me to introduce myself, I'm not a man of wealth and fame. I am, however, old enough to think that's a cool reference. Take that for what you will. My name is Lesley, and I regularly blog over at Plum Crazy, along with my co-blogger, Jon, so check the name at the top of the post if you go over there to read. Most important questions about me can be answered by checking my FAQ. I was quite honored when Shakes asked me to cross-post this entry here, so away we go...
The UK is considering passing a law that would stipulate that a woman who had a certain level of alcohol in her blood would be deemed too drunk to consent. Since this actually puts the onus for preventing rape where it belongs - on men, rather than on women - you can imagine the outcry. The comments section is chockful of people bemoaning this "horrible" development.
The comments generally fall along two lines. One is the ever-present fear of false accusation! Yes, you know, because someone might falsely accuse someone of a crime, we shouldn't legislate against that crime. Oh wait, no. Apparently that only applies to rape. I have yet to see anyone argue that we shouldn't have a law against burglary since someone might falsely accuse someone else of robbing their house. And never mind that it actually has to be proven that the woman was too drunk to consent.
The other is that somehow men are going to be held responsible for their actions, but women are not. Oh heavens, where's Teh Equality? I think the action women are supposed to be held responsible for in these comments is drinking. A lot of the comments suggest that women shouldn't be getting drunk if they don't want to risk "involuntary sex or rape" (an actual phrase from one of the comments). This implies that an appropriate consequence of women drinking is having men rape us. Whereas for men, the appropriate consequence of drinking is having a hangover or vomiting. If some guy got so drunk he couldn't figure out what was happening to him, and another man raped him, who would think to question what he was doing getting that drunk in the first place? I mean, maybe he consented. He just doesn't remember, right? Why isn't someone holding him responsible for his actions! /snark. That is exactly what would not happen. Here's an entire article about a rapist who strikes men where not one word is said about how dangerous it is for men to be walking alone at night or any of the usual cautionary warnings given in articles about rapists who prey on women.
This also implies that somehow deciding to have some drinks is on the same level of badness as deciding to "have sex" with someone who isn't in any frame of mind to comprehend what is happening around them. I know, it's a terrible thing to imagine that men might have to be more aware of their sex partners. That those who don't might have to actually give a damn about their partner's desires and mental state. Clearly it's much more important that drunk men have sex whenever they want to than it is to protect women.
In ending, I'm going to quote this case as why these kinds of laws are necessary (emphasis mine):
Case study: Ryairi Dougal was cleared of rape in a landmark case last year because his alleged victim was too drunk to recall events.She was unconscious. How many unconscious people can remember anything? How many unconscious people are capable of consenting to anything? She was lying drunk and unconscious in a corridor when a man she didn't know raped her. Yet, because she couldn't remember anything, he gets off. This is the kind of situation we're supposed to allow to continue in order to protect a few men against false accusations. No secret where our priorities are.
The security guard had sex with the student while she was lying drunk and unconscious in a corridor outside her flat in Aberystwyth University.
The case hinged on whether the 21-year-old he was accused of assaulting had consented to sex.
Swansea Crown Court was told by the woman there was "no way" she would have agreed, but when questioned by the defence, she acknowledged she could not remember anything and therefore could not definitively say if she had consented or not.
Even though 20-year-old Mr Dougal was a stranger to the woman, the judge told the jury to bring in a not guilty verdict because she could not remember whether she had given consent.
A judge has ordered that he is to be hanged by tomorrow.
Odd quote award: "Our respect for human rights requires us to execute him, and there will be no review or delay in carrying out the sentence." — Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki.
I understand what he means, but it still sounds weird.
What's the word, Shakers?
Tom Watson: The Real Day of Mourning
Echidne: Sex Your Brain!
The Quaker Agitator: Where is the outrage?
Some Guys Are Normal: Ask and Tell
Coturnix: The Netroots Candidate
MSNBC is reporting that Saddam Hussein's sentence—death by hanging—will be carried out as early as today, and television execs are discussing how to cover it "tastefully," and whether that includes broadcasting it. Personally, I think we should have insisted he was put in a den with lions and made it available on pay-per-view. Hanging is so old school, you know? Kind of a ratings dud.
You know what's more worrying than everything George Orwell said coming true? When everything George Carlin said starts coming true.
1) True. However, I neglected to tell you that the guy was very badly beaten, and had his arm in a cast. Don't fuck with the French police, people. That said, he was still a very big man and the five minutes the detectives were gone felt like a long time.
2) True.
3) False. Strange that everyone chose to place their lie in the third slot. Although alcohol did inspire me to have many weird and wonderful adventures back in the day, this particular debacle actually belongs to a friend of mine.
4) True. The boys and I had quite a summer, that year.
5) True. We asked Fox to put an announcement about the missing ring on their news ticker. They came around and interviewed us instead - it was a slow news day. We almost ended up on the morning chat show, but some big story broke and we were cancelled.
Thanks to everyone who played.
-------------------
Tagged by Tart. Four of these stories are true, and one is false. You have to guess which is false.
1) I was once robbed in my sleep by a homeless Frenchman. After his apprehension, the Gendarmes left me alone in a room with my 6'7" assailant while they went off for a cup of coffee and a croissant. One of the detectives left his sidearm on the table.
2) I once made a living selling goods door to door. Some of which were "hot," some not.
3) Once, after a heroic drunk, I crashed into a roundabout at a major intersection while cycling home at 3 in the morning. I awoke at noon the next day, prostrate on said roundabout, surrounded by traffic and sunburned down one side of my body.
4) Parties unknown once mailed a large shipment of narcotics to me by accident. My friends and I saw that it did not go to waste.
5) I lost Shakes' engagement ring two days before I was to propose to her. As a consequence of this I appeared on Fox News' local affiliate (seems that all the dummies end up there).
Ikea furniture: it can go either way, really. My bedside table was a success. It's a sturdy little structure, it holds a lamp, a box of tissues and a stack of books in a reliable manner. I congratulate myself on my bedside table.
The bookshelf was surprisingly easy. When I finally stood it up against the wall, the right side was clearly lower than the left, but a pad of Post-Its fixed that, and nobody's the wiser.
The coffee table? That's when I started bleeding. First of all, it was unreasonably complicated. Forty fucking dowels? Not necessary, I'm convinced. I got about half of it done before, while trying to force two uncooperative pieces of wood together, I slammed my thumb between them, splattering blood onto the partially-constructed table, my pants, my shirt, and my entire arm. That blood flew, really. What was weird is that the cuts weren't bad, and after a couple minutes under the faucet it wasn't really bleeding anymore. Luckily I didn't break my thumb, which is what I thought happened at first. I mean, when was the last time you saw your own blood splatter? It's disturbing. Good thing I was wearing old, unloved clothes. And the coffee table, like my thumb, is marked with the scars of my incompetence. It's unfinished and one side isn't really attached to the bottom, but I figure my TV is so heavy, if I use it as a TV stand the weight will kind of push everything together.
The rest of the wood, dowels and screws have been relegated to the back of the closet, for re-examination a) when I'm feeling ambitious again or b) in some boyfriend-related situation.
For now, my boyfriend is named Stepladder. He's very useful around the apartment. He also folds up for my storage convenience.
What current elected office-holder, either in D.C. or in a state governorship, would you like to see run for president who probably won't? This could either be someone for whom you'd vote, or someone to run on the opposing ticket that you'd like to see run either because you're convinced they'd lose or because you could live with them if they won.
Kudos to the AP for actually talking to soldiers in Iraq to get a rough gauge of their opinions on escalating the war. We were recently treated to multiple news reports about Gates meeting with troops who supported escalation without any exploration of whether that opinion was in any way representative or if instead they had been hand-picked for their views for propaganda purposes. It seems more likely it was the latter, so great job all who reported unskeptically!And here it is:
Many of the American soldiers trying to quell sectarian killings in Baghdad don't appear to be looking for reinforcements. They say a surge in troop levels some people are calling for is a bad idea.There's much more at the link.
…In dozens of interviews with soldiers of the Army's 5th Battalion, 20th Infantry Regiment as they patrolled the streets of eastern Baghdad, many said the Iraqi capital is embroiled in civil warfare between majority Shiite Muslims and Sunni Arabs that no number of American troops can stop.
Others insisted current troop levels are sufficient and said any increase in U.S. presence should focus on training Iraqi forces, not combat.
But their more troubling worry was that dispatching a new wave of soldiers would result in more U.S. casualties, and some questioned whether an increasingly muddled American mission in Baghdad is worth putting more lives on the line.
Spc. Don Roberts, who was stationed in Baghdad in 2004, said the situation had gotten worse because of increasing violence between Shiites and Sunnis.
"I don't know what could help at this point," said Roberts, 22, of Paonia, Colo. "What would more guys do? We can't pick sides. It's almost like we have to watch them kill each other, then ask questions."
New piece at The Guardian's Comment is Free, which is a "cut-out-and-keep guide to the field" of presidential wannabes at this point. I don't think I've provided much information that most American political junkies around here don't already know, but check out the comments from conservatives who are pissed that I've accused the GOP (and specifically Rudy Giuliani) of exploiting 9/11. Ouch. Looks like I hit a nerve!
Everyone seems to be talking about recently deceased former President Ford's "embargoed interview" with Bob Woodward from July 2004 in which he said the Iraq war was not justified and that he "'very strongly' disagreed with the current president's justifications for invading Iraq and said he would have pushed alternatives, such as sanctions, much more vigorously."
"Rumsfeld and Cheney and the president made a big mistake in justifying going into the war in Iraq. They put the emphasis on weapons of mass destruction," Ford said. "And now, I've never publicly said I thought they made a mistake, but I felt very strongly it was an error in how they should justify what they were going to do."Maybe it would have made absolutely no difference if Ford had said this shit publicly instead of telling Woodward it could only be published upon his death. Then again, maybe it would have. It would have been nice if we'd had the chance to find out. What I'm not sure I understand is why Ford felt compelled to keep his thoughts private. Was he keen to protect himself against criticism, to protect the GOP, to protect Bush? None of the above sound to my sensibilities like justifiable reasons to keep one's mouth shut if there's even the slimmest of chances that speaking up could avert a war—a war which has left hundreds of thousands of Iraqis dead or displaced and has seen more soldiers die than the number of people killed on 9/11.
…"Well, I can understand the theory of wanting to free people," Ford said, referring to Bush's assertion that the United States has a "duty to free people." But the former president said he was skeptical "whether you can detach that from the obligation number one, of what's in our national interest." He added: "And I just don't think we should go hellfire damnation around the globe freeing people, unless it is directly related to our own national security."
Some dumbasses are greater than others. Some are so large they threaten to block the sun. Some great candidates are here. Is a president who uses "the Google" to look up maps dumber than a Senator who sees the internet as tubes that get filled up? Who had a dumber idea about the iPod? So much dumb, so little time . . . Vote for one. Or write one in.
What's the frequency, Shakers?
Echidne's got a good one.
Kona goes to Nigeria.
Blah3 with some blechitude about Saint Rudy.
Dennis Prager just can't help himself. First, he went off on one about newly-elected Congressman Keith Ellison being sworn into office on a Quran, claiming the act "undermines American civilization" and accusing Ellison of being unfit to serve in Congress if he would not swear on a Bible. Then, when people had the temerity to criticize him for holding such an absurd position, Prager blamed Ellison for the controversy: "[I]t was Keith Ellison who raised the entire issue of taking an oath on a Koran rather than a Bible. He did not make his announcement in the hopes that it would be ignored but to make a statement. I was responding to that statement. Critics who are unhappy with it becoming an issue should direct their ire at Mr. Ellison."
His latest column goes one step yet further, saying the "Culture War" is about the Bible's authority, and its two sides are delineated by the answer to this question: "Does the person believe in the divinity and authority of the Five Books of Moses, the first five books of the Bible, known as the Torah?"
[Christians and Jews, who do believe in the divinity of the Torah] line up together on virtually every major social/moral issue.It's interesting that Prager used "capital punishment for murder" as an example for his (presumably non-comprehensive) list of "major social/moral issues" instead of, say, "murder." But just saying "murder" would have complicated his point a bit, considering that most secular progressives are, ya know, against murder, too. In fact, on the most basic "social/moral issues," there's not much disagreement among decent people, irrespective of their politics or religiosity—murder, rape, thievery, dishonesty, exploitation, bullying…there's a whole list of social and moral issues that are both far simpler and more immediate to most people's lives than "a willingness to criticize the moral state of Islamic societies." (Which itself references a bullshit dichotomy anyway, and says less about anyone's morality than about Prager and his peeps' contempt for those unwilling to make sweeping generalizations about whole societies.)
Name the issue: same-sex marriage; the morality of medically unnecessary abortions; capital punishment for murder; the willingness to label certain actions, regimes, even people "evil"; skepticism regarding the United Nations and the World Court; strong support for Israel; or a willingness to criticize the moral state of Islamic societies. While there are exceptions -- there are, for example, secular conservatives who share the Bible-believers' social views -- belief in a God-based authority of the Torah is as close to a predictable dividing line as exists.
…This divide explains why the wrath of the Left has fallen on those of us who lament the exclusion of the Bible at a ceremonial swearing-in of an American congressman. The Left wants to see that book dethroned. And that, in a nutshell, is what the present civil war is about.
UPDATE: Here is the answer, along with some explanations. Thanks to all who hazarded a guess or two!
The original Meme post:
I'd been laying low in my sparkly Christmas bunker, hoping to be overlooked. But no.
It appears silas216 of Outpost of the Empty Head has thrown the Magical Mystery Meme gauntlet down in my general direction.
So: five litbrit stories, one of which is either partially or completely untrue. Wherein resides the lie? Leave your guesses in comments!
Story Number One
It is December, in the late 1970's, and I'm in my sophomore year at the University of Florida. My last final exam that quarter is International Relations, and I'm going into the home stretch of a challenging course with a wobbly B average, so it's an important grade. I stay up all night studying--or, at least, I try to. Somewhere between four and five in the morning, my fatigue gets the better of me: I set my alarm clock for six and my head hits the pillow like a ton of bricks. Of course I sleep through the alarm, but all is not lost, since I awaken a full twenty minutes before the exam is to begin. We are having one of those sub-freezing cold fronts in Gainesville, but there is no time to choose clothes and dress myself, so I grab my maxi-length wool coat--one with a huge faux-fur collar and cuffs--and put it on over my undies and camisole as I run out the door, wriggling my feet into my sneakers as I went. I run across several blocks of the UF campus and arrive at my International Relations class just in time to see the professor handing out the exam papers.
The only empty desk is situated next to the radiator--which, like so many radiators in old, old buildings, worked on HIGH or not at all--and I am already quite hot, having run about a mile in what seemed to be no time flat. But I have no choice, so I sit down and set to work. As the hour wears on, I become soaked in sweat. The window next to me is painted shut. And I can hardly take the professor up on his repeated offers to take my coat, lest I be known forever after as the student who led not a Boxer Rebellion, but an Undies Uprising.
Story Number Two
It is fall, early eighties, and I am flying from New York to Tampa. About thirty minutes before we're due to arrive, the aircraft makes a sudden, steep descent. We land, and the pilot throws on the retros almost immediately; the plane practically screeches to a halt. A voice comes on the P.A.
"Ladies and gentlemen, you've probably noticed that we've landed a little early. We're actually in Jacksonville, and there has been a threat to the aircraft. Please leave all your belongings on board and exit as quickly as possible."
That's it. Exit as quickly as possible. My heart sinks and then begins to race. I'm not frightened, not exactly; instead, I feel an overwhelming and supernaturally potent urge to get away from whatever is about to explode. Somehow, we all remain calm and oddly silent as we skitter toward the emergency exit and jump onto the blow-up slide, which is as much fun to whip down as it looks, only you're so busy concentrating on not being blown up, you forget to enjoy yourself. There are flashing lights everywhere and a wide circle of police and firefighting vehicles is forming around the plane. As soon as my bare feet hit the ground, I run as fast as I can, bursting through the line of uniforms and cruisers and dogs and sirens.
Within moments, an officer grasps my arm and takes me indoors where other passengers are queuing up to use the pay phone (no-one has cell phones back then). After the bomb-sniffing dogs have done their thing, we board the same plane and continue home to Tampa. No-one ever tells us what the threat had been or why it was leveled against a routine New York-to-Florida flight. We are, however, offered a single cocktail "on the house". The elegantly-dressed retired man who is my seatmate is bent over, re-tying his shoes, when the flight attendant comes by; he looks up at her and says Courvoisier, please. A double, if possible.
Story Number Three
It is the early 1980's and I am in Nassau, Bahamas, for what is, essentially, a day-trip errand. It is my job to take a packet of legal papers and contracts to an attorney in this city, present them to him for his review and signatures, and bring them back to my boss in Florida later that day. I've already carried out my duties, and there are three hours to kill before my return flight leaves. I walk around a little, browsing the souvenier stands and t-shirt shops; eventually, I find a little grocery store that carries English sweets and teas, so I go inside and buy enough chocolate-covered Digestive Biscuits and boxes of TyPhoo to fill three bags. Then I continue my walk and head over to the harbor where all the cruise ships dock. I sit on a bench and am daydreaming away, enjoying the warm breezes. Suddenly, there is a throat-clearning noise behing me. I twist my torso and look over my shoulder: a tall, African man in a military uniform stands there.
"Are you enjoying yourself, Miss?" he says. His voice is basso profundo and heavily accented.
I tell him, "Yes, thank you, the Bahamas is a beautiful place to be today."
"Where are you on other days, then?"
"Florida," I reply. "I have to fly back in a couple of hours."
"Ah. So you don't live here," he said, gesturing toward my grocery bags.
"These are English, um, cookies and teas...things that are hard to find in the States."
The man turned and pointed to a black 7-series BMW. "You will come and have lunch with me, then, before you take your English cookies back to America."
And that is how I came to share conch salad and a couple of Kalik beers with exiled Ugandan president Idi Amin Dada.
Story Number Four
It is the early 1980's and I work as an assistant to a rock concert promoter. Our next show is a big one: The Rolling Stones, with Van Halen as the opening act. I am reviewing the concert riders, those attachments that specify things like what sort of food and beverages must be offered backstage and so forth. One odd request from Mr. Roth sends me to my boss for clarification: All brown M&Ms removed?
"Yes," says Boss. "Go to Albertsons, buy a dozen or so bags each of plain and peanut M&Ms, come back here, pour them into a couple of salad bowls, and pick out all the brown ones, please, Deborah. You can be sure the fucking caterers won't do it."
I go to Albertsons, and when I return, I set to work on the M&M-sorting while Boss fields call after call. He summons me again.
"Get Jeff (a PR guy and our contact at Disney World) on the phone. One of Mick's kids is having a birthday, and he wants to rent the Magic Kingdom for a night. Close the place to the public, but have all the main rides operational. Think they'll do it?" he said, knowing full well that anything, pretty much, is available for a price.
We secure the private Disney evening for Mick and his entourage, and since I'm finished taking care of the M&Ms, I start reading the Stones' rider. Among the requests is this: "One large bowl M&Ms; Mick will gladly accept any brown ones that David Lee Roth doesn't want."
Story Number Five
It is the late 1960's. My little brother and I attend a catholic convent in Barbados. Normally, the only adults we see are nuns who float around in head-to-toe white habits and the occasional priest, also in full garb. But one day, my history class is interrupted by a black-leather-bedecked and British-accented film crew and director: they are walking up and down the rows of desks, snapping photographs of my classmates and me and telling us to try to be natural. A few days later, half of us are called to the Headmistress' office and informed that we will be helping to make a television advertisement.
We spend the next week at the beach and on board a pirate ship called the Jolly Roger. Ashore, we dig up fake treasure chests, over and over, and feign excitement over what we find inside, which is the product for which we're making this advert: Birdseye Fish Fingers. The "captain" is a hilariously funny and foul-mouthed British actor who, every day, starts out sober but proceeds to get increasingly more drunk as the shoot wears on. When I mention that I don't think I can do another scene because I can't eat another bite of fish finger, he digs a little pit in the sand and whispers to me to spit into it between takes--it will be our secret.
None of us will see a penny of pay for our work; apparently, the ad agency paid a lump sum to the convent in exchange for the use of their little (Catholic) savages. And to this day, I cannot eat fish fingers, or fish sticks, or food that in any way whatsoever resembles a breaded piece of seafood product.
Crossposted at The Last Duchess.
Former President Gerald Ford has died at age 93.
Ford became president when Nixon resigned in August 1974. It was less than a year after Ford had assumed the vice presidency in the wake of Spiro Agnew's resignation, making him the first president who was never elected to either the vice presidency or the presidency. A month later, Ford offered an unconditional pardon to Nixon, which paved the road to the White House for Jimmy Carter.
I was born in May 1974, so Ford was my second president, but I have no memory of him. My first awareness of Ford is Chevy Chase's impersonation of him falling down the stairs of Airforce One—which I saw in re-runs.
Pam's got a nice obit you should check out, which illustrates more than anything how much the Republican Party has changed in the last 30 years.
Ryan Lizza's got a great piece in GQ about Rahm Emanuel, Kiss the Ring. It's well worth your time to give it a read. I'm curious to hear your thoughts about it, or, more specifically, about Emanuel after reading it.
(Original post here.)
#1: Mad Writing and Forgery Skillz—True. I inherited the ability to write upside-down, backwards, and upside-down-and-backwards from Mama Shakes, who thinks that most people can probably do it, but have never tried. I'm not sure from whence the expert forgery talent came, but the trick to it is that I have to watch someone writing to copy their script. There's something about seeing the way they hold the pen that unconsciously registers technique and pressure that I can then replicate. I can decently replicate a signature I didn't see written, but can't parlay that into writing anything in the same script.
#2: On the Cutting Room Floor of Mercury Rising—True. I've actually told that story here before, so long-time readers had an edge with that one. The reason I was waiting to leave the building was to go fill a prescription for antibiotics my doctor had just called in for me, because I was on death's door with a horrendous case of bronchitis. So I was already short-tempered from being so ill; being made to wait put me in a devilish mood.
#3: Can't Ride a Bike—False. Of course I can ride a bike! Everything I said was true, though, about the oversized bike and falling repeatedly. I fell so much, in fact, that Mama Shakes eventually fashioned me homemade knee- and elbow pads out of pairs of Papa Shakes' socks. Never gave up, though, in my usual tenacious way, and finally learned. And spent the rest of my childhood atop a bike.
#4: Egg Hatred—True. I'm not sure when or how my deeply held aversion to eggs developed, because I liked eggs when I was a kid. But somewhere along the way, I not only lost the taste for them, but actually began to be made sick by the mere smell or sight of cooked eggs. For many years, I couldn't even eat if someone else was eating eggs around me, but now that doesn't bother me so much. (Although I can't kiss Mr. Shakes after he's eaten eggs until he brushes his teeth.) I can, however, cook no problem with raw eggs—they don't bother me at all. And the only way I can explain the egg drop soup exception is that it really doesn't smell, look, or taste of cooked eggs to me.
#5: Lucky at Cards—True. Papa Shakes is an excellent card-player, and I seem to have acquired my luck and skill from him, along with the basics of gin rummy, Shanghai rummy, poker, blackjack, and blitz. (And about a dozen card tricks.) I think some people figured this one was bunk because I said "I regularly come up with absolutely extraordinary hands on the river," which may have read as though I'm not much of a player, waiting until the river to complete my hand. But if I still have a hand by the river, it's already a good hand, and so it's precisely as I said; the river often turns my three aces into an ace-over-kings full house, or my flush into a royal flush. If there's a single card that can make my good hand fantastic, it'll come up on the river—which is what drives Mr. Shakes to agitated distraction when we play.
Is not an aphorism that means anything to the Bush administration. $2 billion more down the shitter.
Flash! President Bush Says He Reads Papers—That this is considered newsworthy tells us just about everything we need to know about President Cloistered McBubbleboy, methinks.
President Bush declared in 2003 that he did not read newspapers, but at his final news conference of the year last week, he casually mentioned that he had seen something in the paper that very day.Meanwhile, does anyone really believe he needed to read that in the paper in the first place? Wev.
Asked for his reaction to word that Vice President Cheney would be called to testify in the C.I.A. leak case, the president allowed: “I read it in the newspaper today, and it’s an interesting piece of news.”
That was a marked contrast with his position in 2003, when he told Brit Hume on Fox News that he glanced at the headlines, but “I rarely read the stories,” because, he said, they mix opinion with fact. He said he preferred to get his news from “objective sources” — like “people on my staff who tell me what’s happening in the world.”I'll give you a moment to stop laughing at that one. An oldie but a goodie.
Last year, in an interview with Brian Williams, he softened his stand. “I see a lot of the news,” Mr. Bush told Mr. Williams. “I — every morning I look at the newspaper. I’m not — I can’t say I’ve read every single article in the newspaper, but I definitely know what’s in the news.”Oy. I can't decide what's more pathetic, frankly—the most powerful man in the world saying he "definitely know[s] what's in the news" in a manner belying that he does, or the fact that the dubious news-awareness of the most powerful man in the world warrants a timeline recounting just when, precisely, we were given insights into how dangerously ignorant of current events he actually is.
In April, Mr. Bush reinforced the idea that he read the paper but at the same time suggested it had little influence on his thinking. In rejecting calls to fire Donald H. Rumsfeld, the secretary of defense, he said: “I hear the voices and I read the front page and I hear the speculation, but I’m the decider, and I decide what’s best.”He hears the voices, and then he makes the decidings. Another golden oldie.
Still, despite his statement in 2003 that he did not read the papers, his wife, Laura, said last week that she and her husband had read the morning papers for years. “We’ve done the same thing since we first got married,” she told People magazine. “We wake up in the morning and drink coffee and read the newspapers.”I'm not sure that catching up with the hilarious exploits of Beetle Bailey and Funky Winkerbean is technically "reading the newspaper."
Tony Snow, the president’s press secretary, said in an interview he was certain Mr. Bush read the papers, though he was not sure which ones.Although he did confirm they are all printed daily in the White House basement.
UPDATE: The Answering
1. Bite my own toenails? True. If you've just showered I don't see the big fuckin' deal.
2. Stealing antennae balls? We were honors students. Our pranks were lame.
3. Squeeze my breasts to relax? Try it. It's very soothing. Plus it gives me something to do with my hands when I'm reading.
4. Car carpet stool sample fiasco? Ewwww! I so made that up. Can you imagine? Dude, if I was driving around with my own stool, I'd Ziploc that biz.
5. And I still haven't been stung by a bee. And there are bees in Southern California, but they never got me.
Sizemore, you win, but your reasoning was off. Because if that actually happened, I'd pay anything they charged to have it cleaned professionally.
Via Konagod: Four of these five stories about my life are true. Can you identify the false one?
1. I bite my own toenails, and I don't think it's gross.
2. In high school, some friends and I spent months stealing Jack-In-The-Box antennae balls off people's cars. Then one night we went to a huge shopping/entertainment complex and, under cloak of darkness, strategically placed the multitude of pilfered prizes on the antennae of two rows of cars. We called the stealing process "Jack the Jack," and for some reason, the re-distribution process was called "The Photo Fiesta."
3. When I get anxious, I squeeze my breasts to calm myself down.
4. I was once ordered by a doctor to bring a stool sample back to the office. I didn't screw the cap back on the plastic cup correcty and it spilled in my car, a car for which I never bothered to purchase floor mats. It cost me $150 to have the carpet cleaned.
5. I have never been stung by a bee.
I tag Mr. Shakes.
Och aye, I've been tagged!
Sticking with the meme that brung me, I'm doing it the "Ezra" and hence "Neil" way—that is, four of the following stories are true, and one is the creation of a memed fabulist.
1. I am ambidextrous and can write, in both print and cursive, backwards, upside-down, and upside-down-and-backwards. I am also a spectacular forger. After watching someone write their signature, I can not only replicate it but write just about anything else in their script as well. A former boss of mine had me sign everything for him and handwrite notes on his behalf—and was constantly delighted and disturbed that even he couldn't tell the difference between his writing and my mimicry of it.
2. I have had unexpected encounters with three famously conservative stars: Gary Sinise, who was extremely nice, Mel Gibson, who appeared quite sane and did not call me 'Sugartits,' though he was only drinking coffee at the time, and Bruce Willis, who was filming a scene from Mercury Rising outside the building in which I was working. Directly outside the front door, in fact—which is why, when I tried to leave the building, I was stopped by a big gym rat in a black muscle tee who told me I had to wait for 10 minutes because "they're shooting a scene and we can't interrupt them." Forty minutes later, a crowd of people, many of whom were trying to leave to get to business meetings, had gathered, and I was getting testy with the gym rat. "Ten minutes," he told me, but I saw the fear in his eyes. "That's what you said forty minutes ago," I snarled, then shoved past him and out the door—and, hence, into the scene—where someone yelled "Cut!" and one Mr. Bruce Willis admonished me, "We're trying to shoot a film here!" and I snapped back, "I'm trying to live my life here!" before marching off haughtily. Attica! Attica!
3. I have never properly learned how to ride a bike. Because my parents were teachers, we spent our summers either traveling about the country on "educational vacations" or in New York City, where my mom grew up, with my grandparents. One summer in NYC, my dad tried to teach me how to ride a bike, but between having a borrowed bike that was too big for me and trying to stay upright on Queens' tree root-cracked, uneven sidewalks, it was a disaster. I tried for weeks, but learned only that scabbed knees and elbows elicit easily-exploited amounts of sympathy from grandparents.
4. I hate—hate hate hate with the passion of ten thousand suns—eggs and anything "eggy," like mayonnaise. (I don't terribly mind a little mayo in, say, tuna salad, but when I make it myself, I use fat-free cucumber ranch dressing instead.) On the phone with Paul the other day, who knows of my deep detestation of eggs and with whom I'll be spending Christmas Eve, he was harassing me with threats of serving me eggnog. I told him I'd sooner eat one of his dog's turds, which sent him into fits of laughter, mainly because he knows it's true. The weirdest bit of my egg revulsion is that while the mere whiff of cooked eggs makes me gag, I love egg drop soup. Mr. Shakes often cites this as evidence of my insanity, a point which I find admittedly tough to dispute.
5. I love card games, and I tend to be extremely lucky at the games I like the least. Five Card Stud is my favorite poker variation, but I am significantly more lucky (and probably also more skilled) at Texas Hold 'Em. I regularly come up with absolutely extraordinary hands on the river. And though I prefer poker, I have more success with blackjack, which I find quite tedious, because it is simply a game of memory and math and has none of the fun bits of poker, like searching out tells and talking smack.
There is it. Now it's up to you to guess which one is false.
And now I'm tasked with tagging five more. Go: Maurinsky, Griffin, Creature, Deborah, and Shayera.
Everyone else should consider themselves tagged, too, and drop me a line in comments if you pick up The Magical Mystery Meme.
(Crossposted at Ezra's place.)
"There are no Hamas or Fatah foetuses." That certainly seems an important thing to remember. I know in the grand scheme of things it's not "that simple," but when the choice is let a woman through a checkpoint or force her to give birth in the back of a car at the end of a gun, it is precisely that simple.
Continuing a tradition, and a theme, whatever you are celebrating this year, even if just its end, I hope you enjoy yourself and stay safe and healthy, and wish you all oodles of joy and best wishes—and most importantly peace.
Shakes: Joementum for Biden
Shakes: Thank You
Misty: Happy Holidays!
Shakes: Silent Right
Shakes: Friday Cat Blogging
Shakes: Meet the GOP's 2036 Presidential Nominee
Litbrit: A Peace of Our Minds
Paul the Spud: Just Don't Say Macaca
Also: Waveflux spent a yucky day at the dentist today. Feel better soon, Captain!
The "swearing in on the Quran" hysteria continues, and Virgil Goode is leading the way. (Bolds mine)
Goode wrote that to "preserve the values and beliefs traditional to the United States," an immigration overhaul was necessary to avoid "many more Muslims elected to office demanding the use of the Quran."Yes, Jebus forbid that any Muslims be elected to office and "demand" use of the Quran. After all, strict adherence to one religion is one of the principles that this country was founded upon!
Defending his statements Thursday, Goode, a Republican, told Fox News he wants to limit legal immigration."Not from European countries?" Is it just me, or does that sound like "visas for white people only?"
He also said he wants to do away with "diversity visas," which he said allowed people into America "not from European countries" and "some terrorist states."
Minnesota Rep.-elect Keith Ellison told CNN that he is not angry about a letter Virginia Rep. Virgil Goode wrote that said Ellison should not be allowed to place his hand on the Quran during his unofficial swearing in ceremony.Damn that Constitution! It just wants to let anyone into office, and use whatever goddamned book they like! Why does the Constitution hate America?
"I think the diversity of our country is a great strength," Ellison told CNN's Wolf Blitzer. "It's a good thing that we have people from all faiths and all cultures to come here."
[...]
Ellison responded to Goode's sentiments by saying that he would like to meet with Goode to talk about Islam and find some "common ground."
"We all support one Constitution, one Constitution that upholds our right to equal protection, one Constitution that guarantees us due process under the law, one Constitution which says there is no religious test for elective office in America," Ellison said.
Meanwhile, Goode said at a news conference at the Franklin County Courthouse in Rocky Mount, Virginia, that he feels he said nothing inappropriate.I do not think that means what you think it means.
"I will not be putting my hand on the Quran," Goode said.
Goode, who represents Virginia's 5th Congressional District, said he is receiving more positive comments from constituents than negative.
"One lady told me she thinks I'm doing the right thing on this," he told Fox News. "I wish more people would take a stand and stand up for the principles on which this country was founded."
Please remove your awful 1960s Peace sign. All the neighbors are sick of it.
Todd Shriber, the communications director for U.S. Rep. Denny Rehberg (R-Mont.), went to attrition.org in September looking to hire a hacker or two for a fairly straightforward task: he wanted someone to break into Texas Christian University’s computer system and change his grade point average.Via Josh Marshall:
…The two “hackers” who decided to avoid the criminal work and string Shriber along had entirely too much fun with the poor schmuck. At one point, they asked Shriber to recognize exactly what he was requesting, and take certain steps to ensure their safety:“First, let’s be clear. You are soliciting me to break the law and hack into a computer across state lines. That is a federal offense and multiple felonies. Obviously I can’t trust anyone and everyone that mails such a request, you might be an FBI agent, right? So, I need three things to make this happen: 1. A picture of a squirrel or pigeon on your campus. One close-up, one with background that shows buildings, a sign, or something to indicate you are standing on the campus. 2. The information I mentioned so I can find the records once I get into the database. 3. Some idea of what I get for all my trouble.’”You wouldn’t believe the picture Shriber sent…
In November 2005, two dozen unarmed Iraqi civilians were killed by US Marines. In May 2006, Rep. John Murtha (D-PA) said that the massacre, known by the its location, Haditha, was carried out in cold blood. His comments unleashed a cataclysmic fury in the rightwing blogosphere, reaching a fevered crescendo a month later with Ann Coulter suggesting Murtha ought to be fragged.
Yesterday: "The U.S. military on Thursday charged four Marines with murder and four others with dereliction of duty in the 2005 killing of 24 unarmed civilians in Haditha, Iraq, scene of what Iraqi witnesses say was a massacre by American troops."
Any noises of amends from the Right? Any notion that, charges now having been brought, perhaps calling for Murtha's death was a bit premature? Nope.
Quelle surprise.
One of the reasons I've never been very good at asking for help is because I always feel I'm quite terrible at conveying how appreciative I am for it. So, bearing in mind my awkward incompetence, please accept my fervent gratitude to everyone who so graciously offered their support, whether financial or a kind word or both, to Mr. Shakes and me after his accident on Tuesday. It really means so much to both of us to have such an amazing support network.
Sometimes I get ribbed a bit around here (which, as I'm sure you've notice, I don't mind in the least) for seeming weirdly optimistic at perhaps the most bemusing times. It's true that being a progressive blogger these past few years has certainly strained even the most resolute believers in the goodness of people, but it also means membership in an amazingly generous and supportive community of people. I have been the beneficiary of this generosity and support, and I have been as generous and supportive as I've been able as we have pulled together on behalf of bloggers who lost their computers or their jobs or simply couldn't make rent one month.
In every case, there has arrived a conservative or two or ten to exploit a vulnerability and grouse about the person being helped taking "unearned" money from strangers. Conservatives say they believe the pulling together of community, the generosity of others to help those in need, is precisely on what those in need should rely, rather than the government, but in the end, it seems, what many of them really believe is that people with a bit of bad luck deserve no help, nor sympathy, nothing but misery and mockery as they slowly fall off the edge. In the end, it turns out, the best conservatives seem to be progressives.
And I am, and shall always be, profoundly thankful and proud to blog among you.
According to Bill O'Reilly, expert on all things Woman and all things Christmas, "women who like artificial trees ... have artificial breasts."
This is, of course, total bullshit. My titties are 100% Natural Grade Double-D and I love artificial trees. [May be NWS.]
Happy Holidays from Shakes Manor!
Washington Wire (via): "After Bayh exits Democrats' 2008 presidential race, Biden's camp insists he's in. One adviser notes the Delaware Democrat's $5.5 million raised through September represents more new money than most would-be rivals to Clinton and Obama. The 34-year Senate veteran will announce an exploratory committee after New Year's, citing foreign-policy experience and the fact that he has never lived in Washington."
Hmm. Maybe that's because Biden has been doing dog-and-pony shows for largely Republican audiences. I'm sure it is easier to raise money at the Rotary Club riffing on the good ol' days of slavery than, say, spending time on a picket line with low-income workers. John Edwards should stop being such a goody two-shoes and start spending more time hobnobbing with bitchez with cash, yo.
What is your favorite pasta and/or sauce recipe?
I cook all my sauces from scratch, because neither Mr. Shakes nor I particularly care for very salty things and most jarred sauces are terribly salty. I'd love to be able to post one of my sauce recipes, but unfortunately I cook by instinct and don't ever measure anything, so it would just be a list of ingredients with portion descriptions like "lots" and "a good shaking" and "bunches." I'm great at showing people how to recreate my dishes, though!
My favorite pasta dish that I make is pasta tossed with prawns in an avocado cream sauce in which I use beautiful smooshily-ripe avocados and fresh asiago cheese. Yummy. Tres yummy.
[No round-up today, sorry. I've been running all over town for the last couple of hours, and now it's time for dinner... I'll get back to it tomorrow.]
…after reading Mary Grabar's The Girls on The View, a charming screed which uses the frequent vapidity of a daytime talk show to illustrate "the danger of giving women the vote," is why, if a woman's opinion is only as valuable as the quality of guidance provided by "a man in the form of a husband or intellectual mentor," it is her name on the byline and not her husband's?
Or her intellectual mentor's, of course.
Proving yet again that sexism does a disservice to both women and men, and that sexism is inextricably tied to homobigotry, Grabar goes on to condemn the men who would let their women run so wild:
Probably many of the women watching the View are stay-at-home moms. But I question what kind of men they have for husbands, or "partners"; they’re probably English professors who have "Peace is Patriotic" bumper stickers on their Volvos. They’re probably the ones who work under department heads who have imposed the popular pedagogical policy of the "maternal presence" in the classroom. These male teachers try to be "facilitators" and nurture spoiled college students who are text-messaging insults about them as they drone on about the "other" and feelings. They write conference papers agreeing with their colleagues that the whole canon of dead white male authors should be eliminated to make way for women writers who eschew linear (read logical) and therefore patriarchal thought. They probably sit down to pee.Grabar goes on to condemn in vivid detail every possible feminine trapping she could presumably call to mind as she tapped out her column in between "mentoring sessions" with her husband, without whose guidance she would have no idea how silly and useless women are. She defends her position, however, by explaining that she is simply "not a typical woman. I read philosophy. I hate to shop. I don’t care what I’m wearing. Nothing in my house is coordinated. If I had been on The View I probably would have taken that old-lady-Elizabeth-Taylor-perfume out of the handbag that Rosie pulled up and dumped it on her head." I could say the same (and nearly have), although I don't pretend that my nonconformity confers upon me a superiority to women whose personalities and preferences more closely hold to any stereotype. It might blow Grabar's mind that I've even known women who enjoy baby showers and reading philosophy. Dear god, what madness!
…I know many women will disagree with me. They will be hurt. Maybe angry. There may be some tears. The lesbians will come to their defense.
But it’s a sign of our crumbling civilization that a bunch of girls of varying ages and ethnic backgrounds, sitting around all dressed up for a coffee klatch, some of them with cleavage spilling out of Victoria’s Secret Infinity Edge Push-Up bras, spout off opinions borrowed from disturbed teenagers and Michael Moore, and call it a talk show.Uh huh. We uppity women with the temerity to have our own opinions and shit, who (gasp!) race mingle and look sexy in public and dare to believe our brains are as sufficiently equipped with the capacity for complex thought as a man's, we bitches and our lousy men who refuse to control us, we are a danger to conservatives. Not only are we likely to vote against them, but we're likely to raise entire generations of girls who also think for themselves, and boys who don't feel obliged to control them. Oh. Mah. Gawd.
This was the danger of giving women the vote. The danger to conservatives (and the survival of this country) is the voting bloc of single women, i.e., those who lack the guidance of a man in the form of a husband or intellectual mentor.
