It's a gorgeous day, the Unfogged meetup is getting started, and I'm in a windowless office rejecting an article.

I expect drunken + amusing text messages tonight, people. Or pictures.

Lance Mannion has an interesting hypothesis that much of the insanity of right-wing journalists' support for the administration is explained by the fact that they're being told scary stories off the record of catastrophic attacks barely averted.

But we don't really need to speculate, do we? There are journalist readers in the Unfogged universe, and does anything happen in DC without Ackerman finding out about it? What's the word?

via atrios

My Humps vs. Dvorak, Symphony #9 "From the New World."

Via W-lfs-n. The moment of genius is matching the "she's got me spending" bit and the big brass theme. Breathtaking.

Why haven't we heard from DeLong?

I was chatting with the seventy-something guy at the pool (74 tomorrow, in fact) about getting old and he told me a story.

When my father-in-law turned ninety, they gave him a book with large print. He was offended, so he gave it to me. It was great.

Happy birthday, seventy-something guy.

Later, in the locker room, I saw a guy about my age put deodorant on his balls before his workout. I almost asked him what the fuck he was doing but I realized I probably didn't want to know.

If you're in the market for a nice, user-friendly Quran-- and really, who isn't?-- check this out. The Asad interpretation is really well done: it gives you the orginal Arabic, a transliteration, the translation, and copious notes. I can't say much about the translation itself but from what I've read it's aged well. (The only down side is that it's a pretty huge volume, so you won't want to use it to bait airport security to frisk you.)

Non-muslims can request a free copy from CAIR.

I feel betrayed when we go backwards technologically. Like three cell phones ago, I had a phone that let me beam names and numbers from the infrared port on my laptop or a handheld or another phone into my phone but I haven't had that on any phone I've had since. It was so easy! Why did they take that away? And my TiVo is awesome and has a built-in DVD recorder but none of the ones they're selling now have that. That's the stupidest thing ever -- it is the perfect interface for recording TV shows onto DVD and so much better than a standalone recorder. I'd never give that up for a new box no matter what other shiny features they added.

This has been my old man rant of the day.

Do we even need to post again, or are y'all going to talk about healthcare forever?

I wish merely to share this tidbit with you.

One of the more bizarre activities the Stasi was found to have engaged in was the collection of Geruchsproben -- smell samples -- for the benefit of the East German smell hounds. The odors, collected during interrogations using a perforated metal "smell sample chair" or by breaking into people's homes and stealing their dirty underwear, were stored in small glass jars.

It's almost touching how totalitarian regimes think of everything.

Looks like the Holbo/Waring pairing has produced precocious, contest-winning cartoonist offspring. Who would have guessed?

A movie reviewer in Texas sees an extraordinary audience reaction to Sicko.

I have never ever seen any movie have this kind of unifying effect on people. It was like I was standing there, at the birth of a new political movement. Even after 9/11, there was never a reaction like this, at least not in Texas. If Sicko truly has this sort of power, then Michael Moore has done something beyond amazing. If it can change people, affect people like this in the conservative hotbed of Texas, then Sicko isn't just a great movie, seeing it may be one of the most important things you do all year.

You can read what he's talking about.

via benen

Reading a year's worth of Gil Thorp.

Go Milford! There's also a blog.

From the bandarlog, of all places, a bumper sticker that's perfect no matter where you live.

A Vegas story for you, below the fold. I managed not to punch anyone this time but I think you'll still like it.

My friend E. had an earlier flight out than I did so I had all of Sunday afternoon in Vegas to myself. I'd finished all of the sightseeing that I'd wanted to do so I decided to treat myself and get a massage at the hotel spa. After my wonderful massage, I figured I'd take advantage of the fact that having a procedure done at the spa entitled you to spend as long as you wanted lounging around drinking their iced green tea and lemon water in comfy overstuffed chairs. It was a nice little cocoon from the sensory assault of the Strip and I loved the idea of spending my afternoon reading in their quiet room.

The peace and quiet didn't last long -- I heard yelling and screeching from the other room. I'd seen three teenaged girls walk through the quiet room on the way to the jacuzzi in their swimsuits just a few minutes earlier and, from what I could tell, they were treating it like their personal pool instead of a place to relax. You could hear them splashing and shouting at one another and laughing all the way across the spa. People were visibly annoyed and I figured someone from the spa would say something to them but it kept going on and on and I was getting increasingly pissed. These MOTHERFUCKERS are HARSHING on my BLISS. Nobody from the spa was saying anything to them and I really can't blame them - I saw the girls when they walked through our room and they looked like bratty little snobs and I'm sure the most you'd get from asking them to keep down was a hair toss and some attitude.

And yet, these girls had to go. What to do? What would have gotten me to leave a place when I was 18 and having fun with my friends? Hmmm...A-ha! The woman who gave me the tour said that the jacuzzi was clothing-optional, right?

I got up and went into the jacuzzi room and, just as I'd pieced together from the sounds I'd heard in the other room, they were splashing and dunking each other and acting like they were at a pool. I calmly took off my robe, dropped it on a bench, and walked across the room stark naked, making eye contact with each of them. I stepped into the water, laid back, and put two nice cool cucumber slices over my eyes. They'd fallen completely silent and I'd seen the "OMG! Naked lady!" looks on their faces before I got in. It didn't even take a full minute for them to leave. And with that, on that day, I reclaimed the spa for the grownups.

While you're all busy crying in your beer, I'm searching the internet for new targets of scorn. Let's take a moment to hate on Roger L. "screenwriter and mystery novelist" Simon's reaction to the news that Al Gore's son was arrested.

I am trying to suppress my schadenfreude at the tragedy of the Gore family today, but I have to admit it's difficult. I have always found Al Gore to be one of the most fatuous individuals on the national and now international scene - a phony scientist, a phony filmmaker, a phony Internet inventor, I could go on and on - and the fact that his son was arrested today with a pharmacy's worth of painkillers in his car (plus a little grass) is no surprise. If the Gores were my parents, I'd want to medicate myself too. And make no mistake about it, young Gore was trying to medicate himself - not seeking enlightenment through drugs as many of us did in our time (not that we found much). You don't take Xanax and Valium for mind expansion.

Christ, what an asshole. A classic example of the Berube phenomenon: every since 9/11, I've been outraged by the abuse of prescription drugs. Amazing that a rich Hollywood type could seethe with so much resentment. How dare Al Gore tell me how to live!
Tbogg has more.

Stanley emailed to ask whether we've ever had a "bad break-up" thread, and I know we've had some scattered break-up stories, but there's no single repository for the hurts we've endured and the evils we've perpetrated. Based on my own experience, I'm guessing there'll be a veritable panoply of presidential pseudonyms in this thread. My breakups have been either amicable or unremarkable, except for one in my junior year of high school, when I broke up with a girl in a way that was so thoughtlessly cruel that I'm still too ashamed to tell you about it. Don't even ask. Just be braver and more pseudonymous than I am.

Why we yawn is one of life's mysteries, but now, via Ezra, I see that there's been a study that hypothesizes that yawning cools the brain, which aids alertness. Volunteers who were instructed to breathe exclusively through their nose (which keeps the brain cooler) didn't yawn at all while they were observed, and volunteers who held a cold pack to their forehead only yawned a little. People who were told to breathe through their mouths yawned more. I guess now we know why mouthbreathing is associated with stupidity. And you should probably preemptively breathe through your nose when you're talking to boring people. The paper itself (short pdf) has more background info and is pretty convincing. But the last paragraph seems to run off the rails a bit.

According to our hypothesis, rather than promoting sleep, yawning should antagonize sleep. It has been widely believed that yawning in the presence of others is disrespectful and a sign of boredom (e.g., witness the fact that many people cover their mouths when they yawn). However, according to our account yawning more accurately reflects a mechanism that maintains attention. Likewise, when someone yawns in a group setting as evidence for diminished mental processing efficiency, contagious yawning may have evolved to promote the maintenance of vigilance.

Ok, I've noticed the yawning makes me less sleepy thing, but the "however" in the third sentence doesn't belong. If yawning makes you more alert, it makes a lot of sense that you'd yawn when your alertness is slipping, which is to say, when you're bored. And the last sentence doesn't make any sense to me. I understand the final clause, but I don't see how it relates to the one before, or what "yawns...as evidence for" means. As far as I can tell, they don't have an explanation for contagious yawning.

Following up on Richard Silverstein's discussion of Alan Dershowitz's new career as an advice columnist, HTML Menken offers some suggestions for the good professor.

This paragraph from Ezra Dyer's review of the Ferrari F430 so perfectly captures the tech geekery and childlike thrill of power that are the heart of sports car worship--even while holding it up for just a hint of ridicule--that I have to pass it on.

One habit I got into with the F430 was digging deep into the throttle and then pulling back for an upshift a few thousand r.p.m. short of the redline. This seems to trick the engine computer into dumping loads of fuel into the intake ports in anticipation of a run to 8,500 r.p.m., because when the F1 transmission clicks off the shift, it's accompanied by a rifle-shot report, a supersonic whip-crack from the exhaust that prompts you to look in the mirror to see if the car behind you is engulfed in a contrail of flame. That never got old, frankly.

Don't do drugs.

Well, not shrill in that acoustical sense, but if there's a populist anti-war pro-infrastructure investment movement out there, it now has a country song:

(I'm going to assume that the words "America First" are a coincidence, rather than a reference to the pre-WWII isolationist movement.)

Via Avedon Carol.

Wow. Keith Olbermann's Special Comment on the Libby commutation yesterday goes beyond scathing into some entirely new category of righteous anger. Go watch it, really. You want to.

Thanks to Clownæsthesiologist in comments for drawing my attention to it; transcript below the fold.

Transcript:

Finally tonight, as promised, a Special Comment on what is, in everything but name, George Bush's pardon of Scooter Libby.

"I didn't vote for him," an American once said, "But he's my president, and I hope he does a good job."

That -- on this eve of the 4th of July -- is the essence of this democracy, in seventeen words.

And that is what President Bush threw away yesterday in commuting the sentence of Lewis "Scooter" Libby.

The man who said those seventeen words -- improbably enough -- was the actor John Wayne.

And Wayne, an ultra-conservative, said them, when he learned of the hair's-breadth election of John F. Kennedy instead of his personal favorite, Richard Nixon in 1960.

"I didn't vote for him but he's my president, and I hope he does a good job."

The sentiment was doubtlessly expressed earlier. But there is something especially appropriate about hearing it, now, in Wayne's voice.

The crisp matter-of-fact acknowledgement that we have survived, even though for nearly two centuries now, our Commander-in-Chief has also served, simultaneously, as the head of one political party and often the scourge of all others.

We as citizens must, at some point, ignore a president's partisanship. Not that we may "prosper" as a nation, not that we may "achieve", not that we may "lead the world" -- but merely that we may "function."

But just as essential to the seventeen words of John Wayne is an implicit trust -- a sacred trust:That the president for whom so many did not vote, can in turn suspend his political self long enough, and for matters imperative enough, to conduct himself solely for the benefit of the entire Republic.

Our generation's willingness to state "we didn't vote for him, but he's our president, and we hope he does a good job," was tested in the crucible of history, and far earlier than most. And in circumstances more tragic and threatening.

And we did that with which history tasked us.

We enveloped "our" President in 2001.

And those who did not believe he should have been elected -- indeed, those who did not believe he had been elected -- willingly lowered their voices and assented to the sacred oath of non-partisanship.

And George W. Bush took our assent, and re-configured it, and honed it, and sharpened it to a razor-sharp point, and stabbed this nation in the back with it.

Were there any remaining lingering doubt otherwise, or any remaining lingering hope, it ended yesterday when Mr. Bush commuted the prison sentence of one of his own staffers.

Did so even before the appeals process was complete...

Did so without as much as a courtesy consultation with the Department of Justice...

Did so despite what James Madison -at the Constitutional Convention -- said about impeaching any president who pardoned or sheltered those who had committed crimes "advised by" that president...

Did so without the slightest concern that even the most detached of citizens must look at the chain of events and wonder:

To what degree was Mr. Libby told: break the law however you wish -- the President will keep you out of prison?

In that moment, Mr. Bush, you broke that fundamental compact between yourself and the majority of this nation's citizens -- the ones who did not cast votes for you.

In that moment, Mr. Bush, you ceased to be the President of the United States.

In that moment, Mr. Bush, you became merely the President... of a rabid and irresponsible corner of the Republican Party.

And this is too important a time, sir, to have a Commander-in-Chief who puts party over nation.

This has been, of course, the gathering legacy of this Administration. Few of its decisions have escaped the stain of politics.

The extraordinary Karl Rove has spoken of "a permanent Republican majority," as if such a thing -- or a permanent Democratic majority -- is not antithetical to that upon which rests: our country, our history, our revolution, our freedoms.

Yet our democracy has survived shrewder men than Karl Rove.

And it has survived the frequent stain of politics upon the fabric of government.

But this administration, with ever-increasing insistence and almost theocratic zealotry, has turned that stain... into a massive oil spill.

The protection of the environment is turned over to those of one political party, who will financially benefit from the rape of the environment.

The protections of the Constitution are turned over to those of one political party, who believe those protections unnecessary and extravagant and "quaint."

The enforcement of the laws is turned over to those of one political party, who will swear beforehand that they will not enforce those laws.

The choice between war and peace is turned over to those of one political party, who stand to gain vast wealth by ensuring that there is never peace, but only war.

And now, when just one cooked book gets corrected by an honest auditor...

When just one trampling of the inherent and inviolable "fairness" of government is rejected by an impartial judge...

When just one wild-eyed partisan is stopped by the figure of blind justice...

This President decides that he, and not the law, must prevail.

I accuse you, Mr. Bush, of lying this country into war.

I accuse you of fabricating in the minds of your own people, a false implied link between Saddam Hussein and 9/11.

I accuse you of firing the generals who told you that the plans for Iraq were disastrously insufficient.

I accuse you of causing in Iraq the needless deaths of 3,586 of our brothers and sons, and sisters and daughters, and friends and neighbors.

I accuse you of subverting the Constitution, not in some misguided but sincerely-motivated struggle to combat terrorists, but instead to stifle dissent.

I accuse you of fomenting fear among your own people, of creating the very terror you claim to have fought.

I accuse you of exploiting that unreasoning fear, the natural fear of your own people who just want to live their lives in peace, as a political tool to slander your critics and libel your opponents.

I accuse you of handing part of this republic over to a Vice President who is without conscience, and letting him run roughshod over it.

And I accuse you now, Mr. Bush, of giving, through that Vice President, carte blanche to Mr. Libby, to help defame Ambassador Joseph Wilson by any means necessary, to lie to Grand Juries and Special Counsel and before a court, in order to protect the mechanisms and particulars of that defamation, with your guarantee that Libby would never see prison, and, in so doing, as Ambassador Wilson himself phrased it here last night, of you becoming an accessory to the obstruction of justice.

When President Nixon ordered the firing of the Watergate special prosecutor Archibald Cox during the infamous "Saturday Night Massacre" on October 20th, 1973, Mr. Cox initially responded tersely, and ominously:

"Whether ours shall be a government of laws and not of men, is now for Congress, and ultimately, the American people."

President Nixon did not understand how he had crystallized the issue of Watergate for the American people.

It had been about the obscure meaning behind an attempt to break in to a rival party's headquarters; and the labyrinthine effort to cover-up that break-in and the related crimes.

But in one night, Nixon transformed it.

Watergate -- instantaneously -- became a simpler issue: a President overruling the inexorable march of the law. Of insisting -- in a way that resonated viscerally with millions who had not previously understood -- that he was the law.

Not the Constitution.

Not the Congress.

Not the Courts.

Just him.

Just - Mr. Bush - as you did, yesterday.

The twists and turns of Plame-Gate, your precise and intricate lies that sent us into this bottomless pit of Iraq; your lies upon the lies to discredit Joe Wilson; your lies upon the lies upon the lies to throw the sand at the "referee" of Prosecutor Fitzgerald's analogy... these are complex and often painful to follow, and too much, perhaps, for the average citizen.

But when other citizens render a verdict against your man, Mr. Bush -- and then you spit in the faces of those jurors and that judge and the judges who were yet to hear the appeal -- the average citizen understands that, sir.

It's the fixed ballgame and the rigged casino and the pre-arranged lottery all rolled into one -- and it stinks. And they know it.

Nixon's mistake, the last and most fatal of them, the firing of Archibald Cox, was enough to cost him the presidency.

And in the end, even Richard Nixon could say he could not put this nation through an impeachment.

It was far too late for it to matter then, but as the decades unfold, that single final gesture of non-partisanship, of acknowledged responsibility not to self, not to party, not to "base," but to country, echoes loudly into history.

Even Richard Nixon knew it was time to resign

Would that you could say that, Mr. Bush.

And that you could say it for Mr. Cheney.

You both crossed the Rubicon yesterday.

Which one of you chose the route, no longer matters.

Which is the ventriloquist, and which the dummy, is irrelevant.

But that you have twisted the machinery of government into nothing more than a tawdry machine of politics, is the only fact that remains relevant.

It is nearly July 4th, Mr. Bush, the commemoration of the moment we Americans decided that rather than live under a King who made up the laws, or erased them, or ignored them -- or commuted the sentences of those rightly convicted under them -- we would force our independence, and regain our sacred freedoms.

We of this time -- and our leaders in Congress, of both parties -- must now live up to those standards which echo through our history:

Pressure, negotiate, impeach -- get you, Mr. Bush, and Mr. Cheney, two men who are now perilous to our Democracy, away from its helm.

And for you, Mr. Bush, and for Mr. Cheney, there is a lesser task.

You need merely achieve a very low threshold indeed.

Display just that iota of patriotism which Richard Nixon showed, on August 9th, 1974.

Resign.

And give us someone -- anyone - about whom all of us might yet be able to quote John Wayne, and say, "I didn't vote for him, but he's my president, and I hope he does a good job."

Good night, and good luck.

The conversation last night turned from online personals generally to a particular genre of personals -- those written by dead Presidents. For your entertainment, below the fold:

Wooden patrician war hero seeks wealthy widow. Must want metaphorical children.
George Washington

They call me pugnacious and irascible, but you can be the judge. Seeking intelligent, eloquent proto-feminist for long-lasting power marriage. No French, please.
John Adams

Do you like wine, tomatoes, and everything French? Are you intrigued by the utopian ideal of an agrarian society of yeoman farmers? Me: Handsome, redheaded, idealistic. You: Charming, witty, open-minded about things like fornication and/or slavery.
Thomas Jefferson

What I am looking for:
Good conversation.
Calvin Coolidge

Short, moody Constitution-fathering type seeks warm, vivacious entertaining type. Must enjoy artwork and pointless wars.
James Madison

Looking for a date that will live in infamy? I'm your guy.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt

Disciple of Jefferson seeks same. Must like doctrines, good feeling and blackmail.
James Monroe

I'm much more than just my father's son (for instance, I have a middle name). Want to find out just how much more? No slaveowners or Masons.
John Quincy Adams

Dashing, pugnacious backcountry warrior looking for a life-partner. You make your decision and I'll let you enforce it.
Andrew Jackson

If you think I'm nothing but the obscure and unsuccessful successor to Jackson, you clearly haven't seen what these muttonchops can do. Give me a chance and I'll Kinderhook your heart.
Martin Van Buren

Want to try to tip my canoe? Aging Indian fighter in search of that special someone. Must like very long speeches in the rain. Please *cough* reply ASAP.
William Henry Harrison

President and other half of famous election slogan seeks party for hot reelection action.
John Tyler

Fifty-Four Fifty or Fun! Your destiny is totally manifest to me, baby. Me: Mulleted imperialist. You: In favor of mullets and unprovoked wars of aggression. If you're lucky, I'll conquer you a territory of your very own.
James K. Polk

Darkhorse expansionist seeks manifestation of destiny.
James K. Polk

Do you like cherries and iced milk on a hot day? Conqueror of Mexico seeks a little señorita of his own. Whigs only, please.
Zachary Taylor

Vice-Presidential type seeks same. Looks and political success should not be important.
Millard Fillmore

Ineffective New Englander looking for love. Must like moodiness.
Franklin Pierce

Could you be the man for me? I may not be able to prevent the disintegration of the union, but I can make all your dreams come true.
James Buchanan

What I am not looking for:
Anyone who yells out "Stalwart" at climactic moments.
James A. Garfield

Fondly do I hope
Fervently do I pray
That my terrible scourge of celibacy
Shall swiftly pass away
A. Lincoln

Lanky railsplitter seeks difficult woman. Must be able to cope with tragedy on both a national and personal level. Must like beards, abolitionism, and national unity. A taste for the theater is nice but not necessary.
Abraham Lincoln

Are you a white southerner conflicted about your attitude toward wealthy plantation owners? Find yourself somehow trapped in the North when your state has seceded? I know the feeling. Let's talk.
Andrew Johnson

Hard-drinking cigar-chomping civil war winner looking for someone to share my glory with. You should be in awe of me and willing to tolerate a little corruption and incompetence in exchange for some sweet lovin'.
Ulysses S. Grant

Broken hearted homebody looking to give romance one more try. Must enjoy snuggling, gin, numbers.
Thomas Dewey

Priggish teetotaler seeks same. Must like lemonade, beards and shady backroom deals.
Rutherford B. Hayes

Why you should get to know me:
We are not yet acquainted, not yet friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may strain, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of intimacy will yet swell the chorus of our Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature, and while the world will little note what we share together it will be long remembered by us both.
Abraham Lincoln

Doomed civil service reformer looking for love. You should be willing to stay by my side for long periods of unsuccessful recuperation. No disgruntled office-seekers, please.
James Garfield

Me: Allegedly corrupt but surprisingly competent Stalwart. You: Fond of interesting facial hair. No Chinese.
Chester Alan Arthur

Huggable bear seeks bareback play partner to shower with gold and government-issue currency.
Grover Cleveland

Swingin' bachelor gone to the White House (ha ha ha). You should be much younger and willing to deal with my child support payments to other women.
Grover Cleveland

I might philander, but when you get down to it, I'm all about hard currency. Will exapnd the money supply for the right woman. You must be willing to be spanked on non-consecutive occasions.
Grover Cleveland

Do you like tariffs and short men? While I may not live up to my grandfather's reputation, I do know much more about not giving long speeches in the rain, IYKWIM.
Benjamin Harrison

Let me take you to my tropical hideaway and tell you war stories. Must love trusts. No anarchists!
William McKinley

I like eating, eating, drinking, eating, and long buffalo rides on Phillipine beaches.
William Howard Taft

Won't you join me on my front porch? Favorite of wealthy businessmen seeking someone special. Must like imperialism; no anarchists, please.
William McKinley

I talk softly and carry a big stick, IYKWIMAITYD. If you like national greatness and killing things, we might be a good match.
Theodore Roosevelt

Credit mostly to eb, teofilo, and Sifu Tweety in the comments -- possibly some other people.

The post immediately below was an incidental find while I was doing real work, comparing personals from guys in Tulsa to those in New York, which I thought would be interesting. I didn't filter my search at all, aside from specifiying men who were looking for women, and all of these are taken from the first two pages of results, so I cherry-picked a little, but not a lot.

First, from Tulsa.

Why You Should Get to Know Me Love computer games and getting out in the park. I camp in beautiful places because nature is a reflection of God. Disc golf while high is kind of fun. I'm a lover not a fighter.

More About What I Am Looking For I must have intellectual conversation to survive. An open mind is a must. When we agree to disagree I respect people and there opinions as I also need respect. Others seem to get bent out of shape.

***

Why You Should Get to Know Me
Social person who enjoys life and all it has to offer, friends, gatherings, simple things.
Loves to cook, entertain, hang out, discuss current events and make the world a better place, work hard and love to discuss world events, write and enjoy quiet time as well.

More About What I Am Looking For Someone with positive attitude, who has interests and hobbies and is comfortable with who they are. Outgoing and and social person of any station. able to laugh at themselves and see the maya of it all, the eternal play unfolding before us.

***

Why You Should Get to Know Me
1) I'm kind, honest and fun. 2) I always know the best places to get all kinds of food. 3) I have good taste in movies.
5) I'm a GREAT boyfriend.

More About What I Am Looking For I want a genuine person. I want to have fun, go out, see things and hear concerts. I like being alone with my date.

***

Why You Should Get to Know Me
I grew up and live in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I went to Oklahoma State University for a while and then got a job designing and installing putting greens in peoples back yards. I now am a real estate manager and I actually like my job. I am 21, play piano, love music, love sushi and food in general, love movies and my xbox 360, like to read occasionally, like math. I used to be a personal trainer so I know about nutrition and health and how to be get into good shape. I'm not really that big on working out as much anymore, I mainly just go mountain biking now and then. My favorite person in this world is my dog, Althea. She is a german shepherd and is the nicest dog ever. That's a short summary of me. Thanks

More About What I Am Looking For A girl with a good sense of humor, who likes to eat good food and watch good movies and listen to good music and enjoy life. A girl who I will think is sexy and has confidence in herself. A fun, smart girl I guess.

---
And New York.

Why You Should Get to Know Me It's like reducing a film into a few still images and trying to retain the feeling of the entire film... Of course a film is only usually a couple hours long... 38 years in a couple paragraphs - yeah, is there an abbreviation for "laugh so hard I piss myself?"

It is rare nowadays for me to answer "I'm a graphic designer" when folks ask that all too common (yawn) NYC question - "what do you do?" I'd much rather answer with something like "I'm a peacemaker," or perhaps "I dance, eat good food, enjoy my friends, make stuff, help people become empowered..."

I have great empathy for the suffering around the world and here at home. I find it far more fulfilling to vision and act for a more just and peaceful world rather than simply reacting out of anger and frustration. It is sad to see so many succumb to the notion of that's just the way it is, etc. As Quixote so wisely said "but maddest of all, to see life as it is and not as it should be."

More About What I Am Looking For I am looking to expand my community, to build those connections that will both inform us (you, me, the world...) and inspire us. New friends and playmates to share the exploration, the discovery, the awe, and the joy. To celebrate the creative endeavors of others and to collaborate and create our own visions together... Can you dig it?! If you are feeling me, drop me a note OR a wink so I can drop one to you.

***

Why You Should Get to Know Me
i believe the heart is like, well maybe a little like the control room in the mountain in War Games, hard to get to but super cool and powerful when you do
i believe in polka
i believe in slow dances, like prom awkwardish nerdy thrilling
i believe i can legitimately name stars i see
i believe there are few things as goosebumpy as putting your ear to another persons chest while they float in the ocean and you listen to their heart beat beat beat
i believe in full on equality
i believe in progress and change
i believe that one should believe that leprechans exist
i believe when you are in ireland and come to a bridge you should get out and ask the leprechans for safety in your crossing, for fun.
i believe i can be anything n you can be anything too
i believe you when you whisper in my ear that you saw a mermaid
i believe my friends keep me alive
i believe floating on a raft in the carribean beats most relaxing tonics
i believe in dessert
i believe what my friend told me about some mini guy who lives in the conch shell he brought back for me and spends his days lifting grains of sand from here to there building miniature igloos, fireplaces, snowmen, etc
i believe if i stare at your eyes long enough

More About What I Am Looking For quality strength brilliance quirks beauty wisdom desire curiosity hunger drive laughter depth belief

***

My most humbling moment
Realizing that the Sesame Street theme song wasn't
going to ever actually tell me how to get to Sesame
Street. Day after day, I would run to the TV and attentively
watch the theme song for subtle variations or clues, which
never came. (Well, at least I wasn't playing records
backwards to discover clues that Paul McCartney was 'really'
dead, and that the Beatles were really faking him once they
stopped touring.) I never got to eat cookies with blue
creatures, hang out in garbage pails, or save Ernie from Bert who I felt was overly
uptight and controlling. I also never got to see the muppets
behind the brick walls. In retrospect, I think this was
all for the best, since too many illusions might have been
shattered. Ask me about part 2, when I did make
it to Children's Television Workshop... I've
had subsequent humbling moments, but this was my first brush with limitations, and not knowing that theme
songs weren't really part of the show was kind of embarrassing
even at age three. Luckily, on some level, no one but me noticed.
But, at the deepest level, isn't that the most humbling
thing of all? I also find it humbling that I still regard
Elmo as a new muppet, and he's been around for fifteen or twenty years. (I
do like him, though. I'm no ax murderer!)

Why You Should Get to Know Me
I recently moved back into the city after spending the last few years in the far off land of Nanuet, NY. It is quite a locale filled all sorts of exotic species and shouldn't be missed by any adventure seeking person. Before that I finished a 3 year run as a Las Vegas showgirl to wild praise and critical acclaim. My time in Sin City taught me several things such as, where to find the best $4.95 steak at 3am, don't get suckered into buying a "ladies drink" and everybody can change a hundred without making you buy something. I felt as if a part of me was missing by being away from New York and I am glad to be back especially during the summer. Nothing spells delicious like that hot subway smell. I love movies, music, biking and going to the park with my fat dog. I have a great group of friends who I am very dedicated to and who constantly tell me that I am the glue that holds them all together. I have a healthy obsession with apple pie and the Discovery Channel and I don't think I will ever eat at McDonald's again after seeing Supersize Me. I come with great references, I am completely housebroken and I hardly shed. I am not perfect and I have some quirky pet peeves, such as; when cashiers put the coins in your hand on top of your cash. Other than that I am pretty well rounded.

More About What I Am Looking For If you have an open mind which I feel that I do then you can be accepting of people with a wide range of characteristics. I would like to meet a person with a great sense of humor, who will laugh not only with me but at me. Someone who doesn't mind getting dirty, but who cleans up well. Someone with opinions of her own who is not afraid to speak her mind. Someone who can tolerate my singing along to songs on the radio or my impulsive dancing.

Here's a selection from the dating profile of a 30 year-old guy in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Why You Should Get to Know Me
I'm currently going back to school and working on a psychology degree.
I have an obsession with serial killers , mass murderers ,dictators,cults,psychopaths, and psychotics.I have read literally hundreds of books on true crime , criminal profiling, and history.I've even exchanged letters with a few convicted killers. I am also a horror movie fanatic, though I think most recent Amercan horror has been garbage.My interest lies in sleazy 1970s European horror films , Asian cult cinema,1980s American slasher movies,German Expressionism,exploitation,underground films , and anything weird ,disturbing,or obscure.If you know names like Lucio Fulci,Dario Argento,Joe D'Amato,H.G. Lewis,Ruggerio Deodato,Takashi Miike,Fritz Lang,Tod Browning,Coffin Joe ,Jesus Franco,Andy Milligan,Werner Herzog and Klaus Kinski we could probably get along.Collecting these films has been a hobby of mine for some time and my collection is now somewhere around 800 films. Most of my weekend nights are spent either out at the bars or here at home drinking and watching bad cult/horror movies.When I have extra cash , I like to spend Saturday mornings searching the flea markets and estate sales for anything weird and cool enough to catch my eye. Political correctness and uptight people bother me. So do people that won't clean up after themselves and those with hopeless drug problems.I have a somewhat sick sense of humor and seem to be quite good at irritating a lot of people.

A couple of his pictures are below the fold.

My new running shoes? Very comfortable. Ran intervals in them for half an hour, and my toenails never came near the inside of the shoe. I suppose I still have to wait a day and see if they produce weird muscle pains, but for now I can wholeheartedly recommend getting your feet filmed at Jackrabbit.

The Place: Jupiter, in Berkeley.

The Day: This Saturday, July 7.

The Time: I say...4pm. I don't really want to make it any earlier, but I'm ok with later.

And drop a comment if you think you'll be there, so we have some idea of how many to expect. Kids, lurkers, parents and your barely-legal cousins all welcome. Identification will be by the time-tested method of looking for other confused people or, if you're brave, the canonical yell of "Who wants to sex Mutombo?"

At the next Republican debate, for all the candidates to be asked how they feel about the Libby commutation. I really want them to either embrace it, or have to walk away from it publicly.

Would it make any difference? Probably not. But I still want it to happen. I doubt that it will, though.

TMZ reports that Salman Rushdie is getting his fourth divorce.

1. Gay. Gay. Gay. Gay. Gay. Not only in orientation (And, oh yes, they all are. Were there any doubt, this was confirmed by our waiter the night before, who is the boyfriend of one of them) but the show dripped with gay camp. I figured they'd try to distance themselves from that reputation but instead they seemed to embrace it, even doing a drag number.

2. The ladies went craziest when the guys channeled Justin Timberlake. It appears he did indeed bring sexy back.

3. The crowd at male strip shows can be broken down as follows: 5% gay men, 5% women over 65, 70% bachelorette-party-goers in penis antlers, 20% other.

4. Great moments in cultural satire: when the Aussie boys did a mock-solemn, over-the-top Tribute To American Heroes dressed as police officers, servicemen, and firefighters, only to then be joined on stage by a biker, Indian chief, and a construction man and abruptly switching to YMCA.

A great Kung Fu Monkey post on how much we rely on shame to keep public officials in line, and how ill-equipped the system is to deal with shamelessness. Too short and way too good to excerpt. (via nattarGcM in the comments)

One other thing to note is how much of what we consider fair play in government isn't codified, but relies in part on gentlemen's agreements and in part on a robust adversarial system. When one side decides not to abide by those agreements (bringing massive bills up for a vote only a few minutes after they're made available for review is an example) and the other side--either because of incompetence or a correct reading of the nation's mood--is basically compliant, we don't really have checks and balances anymore. The courts are the last line of defense, but we've seen how political and unreliable they can be.

I wonder if this isn't simply a fundamental flaw in the American system, that it assumes that the acquisition of power is zero-sum, but doesn't contemplate that one "check" will cede some power in order to keep what it can, or in order to increase the total in which it has a share, or which it hopes to inherit.

Now go read that Kung Fu Monkey post.

I can't remember if y'all like the White Stripes and I don't know if this is standard practice for fairly famous bands, but on their current tour, they seem to be giving free surprise concerts on the street, in buses, and at youth missions. Very, very cool.

Getting back to important business, I'm reminded by Dirty Pretty Things being on my television that Chiwetel Ejiofor, who stars in that and also played the villain in Serenity, is both a great actor and totally hot. In the IMDB message boards, someone says that he should play Bond. Pure casting genius.

Radio! Time! This time it will actually be broadcast online! 12-2pm PST; expect to hear, among other things, a song called "Squirrel of God", Truman Sparks, Burning Star Core, way-mellow Turkish psych from the 60s, Art Jarvinen, and ubiquitous Rune Grammofon trumpeter Arve Henriksen.

Bush commutes Libby's sentence. God forbid anyone responsible pay any price for what's happened over the last six years.

Sorry: Server's getting hammered today; lots of people refreshing lots of threads. We hope to have that sorted out pretty soon.

Alif Sikkiin hits our favorite topics: personal ads, horrible responses to them, the semiotics of personal ad language and the role of class as a filter. So funny, so true.

I'm still too tired to recount my recent traveling adventures but do know that they're forthcoming.

In the meantime, I'll just sit back and be glad that my trip was so much better than this lady's. This is why god invented travel insurance. Christ, what an asshole.

The Sun-- with a headline that suggests kink that never materializes-- reports on some of the suspects in the British would-be car bombings:

Neurologist Dr Mohammed Asha, 26, and his wife, 27, were dramatically held as they drove on the M6 in Cheshire with their two-year-old son.

One of two men held while trying to smash a blazing vehicle into a Glasgow Airport terminal on Saturday afternoon has been named as Bilal Abdulla, who trained as a doctor in Baghdad, Iraq.

Six years of Evil Medical School and the best you can do is light stuff on fire? Bruce Schneier explains that the muslim Hank Hill isn't much of a threat:

...putting a propane tank into a car and driving into a building at high speed is the sort of thing that only works in old episodes of The A Team. On television, you get a massive explosion. In real life, you only get a small localized fire.In the movies, such an act results in a massive, extensive explosion; in real life you get localized fire.

Wait a second...Bilal Abdulla...Baracus! What's odd about this is that Dr Asha had a much easier way of causing terror-- the dude works at a hospital. Imagine that he'd poisoned patients or contaminated drug supplies: now everyone's scared of medicine, and many, many swarthy doctors have to spend half their time convincing patients they're not in al-Qaeda. C'mon, doc, think outside the box! Car bombs are so played out.

In other news from the war on clever, uninteresting advice columnist Amy Alkon takes on Some Woman with a Sign Somewhere. Hard to know who to hate more in this matchup.

Michael Moore is going to Iran in October to screen Sicko. Pretty sweet; they love him there--apparently they played his Academy Award speech for days on Iranian TV. And of course we'll get the howls about consorting with the enemy, Jane Fonda, etc. Good for him.

I finally did get to Jackrabbit Sports, and got myself fitted properly for some running shoes. Getting your feet filmed while you run on a treadmill is neat -- while I knew I had an individual and moderately unusual gait, I hadn't realized quite how peculiar it looked. I run with both feet hitting on a single line, each heel coming down precisely in front of where the last toe was, and as a result end up with my ankles cocked oddly to the side. And I overpronate. The shoe person was moderately incredulous that I don't get shin/ankle/whatever pain from running, and looking at myself running I'm not surprised that she thought so.

So, despite my prejudice in favor of low-structure/low-support shoes, I'm in a pair of very supportive Brooks, in a men's shoe a size larger than I usually buy. I'll keep you all posted on how they work out; I'm sure you're on tenterhooks.

As I take stock of my life, I realize that now that I'm no longer engaged to, or a-courtin' or a-flirtin' with, or curryin' favor among the siblings of a Canadian, I can say it out loud: hockey is stupid.

Thank you. Thank you for listening.

Am I bad and misogynistic for thinking this story is awesome?