Yeah. Turned 18 just in time. What an idiot I was: I think my brain was in my (tiny) Birkenstocks.

Jimmy Carter is a waste of the oxygen he breathes.

Goldstein comments:

Carter’s just a fringe element of the Democratic party anyway, and besides—who listens to ex-Presidents? 

And do you honestly believe terrorists don’t have more important things to do than pay attention to the partisan sniping of grandstanding western politicos?  There are nail bombs to make, and buses and subway cars to blow up.

As to whether or not Carter’s comments provide rhetorical cover for the terrorists—of course not!  Carter is simply voicing his dissent, and if a former US president can’t openly criticize his government—publicly, overseas, during wartime, and on the basis of a narrative of events that an investigative panel has already concluded simply does not represent the facts on the ground—well, then the terrorists have already won. After all, aiding the enemy in their propaganda war IS the highest form of patriotism, and nothing says “I love my country” more than “I love my country provided it's run by people like me."

Be sure to read his entire entry. He's got links, too, but I'm too disgusted to follow them right now. Maybe later.

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That when my media-industry acquaintances ask me if I'm getting paid to blog, they're just being a bit snide because they caught a glimpse of the pro-Schwarzenegger bumper sticker on my car. After all, when someone mentions working on a novel or a screenplay, no one asks if he/she is getting paid: it's understood that such projects are labors of love and hope.

But perhaps there's something deeper about the question of payment for journalism. Something at the very heart of the MSM-blogosphere conflict. Perhaps there is fear in the issue as well.

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Just as with last year's event, we'll be getting tickets to the whole 2 1/2 days of the Liberty Film Festival, which means at some point I'll end up taking a nap in my husband's car like I did last year. (The showings start early for me, and we have to commute to West Hollywood.)

Naturally, I'll be blogging the event, though not live-blogging (The Pacific Design Center doesn't have WiFi; it's rather shocking, really). So there will be recaps at the end of each day about its particular highlights.

Last year's event turned into a who's-who of center-right Hollywood (all four of 'em . . .). The presentations are terrific, though it's hard to get snacks, so I actually packed a lunch for us most of the days we were there, supplemented by bottles of water and protein bars in our pockets. There was a vending machine downstairs, and as I recall it sold candy bars, which kept body and soul together.

If that little sandwich shop downstairs could be persuaded to open for lunch, it would make a bunch of libertarians/war supporters pretty happy. But I shan't hold my breath, and a lot of people are simply going to walk up to the overpriced and overcrowded shops along Melrose. Attila the Hub and I may go to Norm's for lunch at least once, because we're so earthy.

It's a terrific event, and though there aren't many like my husband and me (die-hards who have to be there the whole time), it's always an exciting celebration of new films and the history of filmmaking. I'd even encourage my liberal brethren to check it out: this year will feature a debate on the blacklist era, which I'm looking forward to a great deal.

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. . . tells her side of the story. I missed this when it first ran, but it is priceless.

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Just when you think you've heard it all about the Yemeni government, you discover a new low they've sunk to. When Amnesty International and the rightosphere agree on a cause, you know it's a serious matter.

Read about it at Jane's place, and sign the Amnesty International petition (scroll down; there's an English version on there, so you'll know what you're signing).

Please. Let's do this.

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These people have the funnest stuff, including some wonderful T-Shirts. Go buy one here! (Clicking on my ad will take you right to the fabulous T-shirt page; I've linked to their home page, because it's fun too.)

Also, their ad is just up for a week. If they get lots of orders from me, they might be persuaded to leave it up all month!

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One woman asks the Islamic world to please figure it out. Soon.

Via Percifield, who's back at work on Real Projects, and therefore taking it easy on the blogging. But be sure to read through the "greatest hits" on his sidebar.

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Santa Monice?

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. . . are starting to look a little bit middle-aged. Should I say anything, do you think? Or would that be rude?

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. . . so murky and enigmatic. I have trouble figuring out just where, exactly, he stands on a lot of issues. Like the Palestinians.

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I'm not holding my breath. Not if Ian Paisley is still involved.

But there's a little bit of hope about the situation in Northern Ireland.

Pray for peace there. It's possible.

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History's cutest murderer talks from the grave:

I also thank the useful idiots who opened the Dallas disco, Club Che. Promise me you will never serve a rum and Coke and call it a “Cuba Libre.” When you get a free moment, let’s talk. I think we need to open more clubs for hip young kids who got Ds in history. Club Hitler! Club Stalin! Club Mugabe! Club bin Laden! Okay, scratch that last one. We’ll never make money unless we can serve alcohol.

It's the beret, Baby.

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And good luck to him, too:

It was, in fact, the Court’s more liberal members, Justices John Paul Stevens, David Souter, Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Stephen Breyer—coupled with “conservative” Justice Anthony Kennedy—who evidently believe its okay to take and auction off some hardworking steel worker’s blue collar homestead to make way for a big corporate industrial park, the kickback being an increase in tax revenues the local nannystate municipality can put to use funding programs meant to provide that newly homeless steel worker with the “educational skills” he needs to one day own a home of his very own.

At least one liberal friend referred to this as "the Scalia court," demoting Rehnquist, but implying that it must have been those mean Constructionists who wiped out private property with this decision.

Nope. But thanks for your passing concern for individual liberties. Perhaps you'd like to join us the next time the Left starts shooting them down? There are a few words in the Bill of Rights, after all, that haven't yet got crossed out. We could start there.

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I will be blogging about the eminent domain situation in that part of the world, interviewing someone in an adjacent Connecticut town who can bring me up-to-date on the history of land-grabs in the area and what the future might hold.

Naturally, I'll be doing a little research before I leave town, but aside from the legal blogs and the Castle Coalition, I'd be interested in what you might know about similar cases—in CT or elsewhere.

People who like the Bill of Rights are the new "peasants with pitchforks."

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. . . even though my readership is dropping like a . . . like a gravity-bound thing that's plummeting to the earth.

I went over to Little Mr. Mahatma's this afternoon. Scanmaster joined us, and we had dinner with Mrs. Mahatma and the Mahatma kids ("the monsters," Mr. M calls them). Then the others swam while I lay by the side of the pool and soaked up the heat the concrete had absorbed during the day, as the monsters splashed me and their mother chided them for so doing. We were in the San Fernando Valley, so it didn't get chilly as it would have on the Westside after dark. Not even after my clothes were all wet from the stray water that had landed in my "dry zone."

"I have a sore throat," I kept announcing, to explain why I had to leave soon. But I didn't leave until 9:30 p.m.

I came home slightly on the defensive, ready to point out to my spouse that I was in my client's office into the afternoon today, working sick, and that it wasn't as if my friends and I were loafing around this evening—heaven forfend. No; we had figured out how a particular game of telephone—a piece of gossip rather juicy in its day—had travelled from person to person one summer when we were 16 and 17. We were solving problems, like the brilliant people we are.

I returned full of this accomplishment, and my husband was so sweet that I immediately felt guilty and defensive. So tomorrow—along with catching up on my finances, some phone calls and the housework—I need to finish the plot synopsis for my fiction project, along with the book proposal that will accompany it out into the cold, cruel world. (I'll dress it first in a little sunsuit from Gap Kids, and put Water Babies sunblock on the pages. I try to be a good mom.)

If only Attila the Hub had criticized me for taking several hours off while he was slaving away in his office, pedal to the metal. But no: he had to be sweet and loving. So instead of being able to have a quick row in which I would cleverly deflect the subject to the issue of his deficiencies (real/imagined), I'm now left with one viable option: I need to catch up on all my outstanding projects tomorrow, sometime between my acupuncture treatment (9:00 a.m.) and T'ai Chi class (6:30 p.m.). All because I've been outflanked, denied the moral high ground by the master military strategist I live with.

I'm behind in the arms race of household accomplishment. But that's easy to fix: factory production will soon spike, and . . . I'll bury him. In kisses, support for his endeavors, completion on my own appointed tasks, fun snuggling, and cheap-yet-tasty dinners on Sunday nights.

Attila Girl is re-arming.

(You people have figured out the reality, right?—when I feel like this, it's never because my husband is mad at me for my indolence. He's usually just tired and preoccupied with his own work. I just like to externalize my guilt, projecting it onto him. The next day I remember that if I feel like he's mad at me, it's generally because I'm mad at myself. He has nothing to do with it at all.)

I'm such a head case.

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Our modern-day "Agent 99." At least, he tries to.

UPDATE: Post now new and improved! Featuring a link that (1) works and (2) isn't part of my menu planning for next week.

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A six-year-old girl has started a blog; go check it out. It's actually worth looking at the main page for a couple of minutes, because her "virtual" pet bunny moves around a lot, and it's fun to watch.

(Mama, go ahead and let the girl get a Site Meter. Or put an invisible one on there for you to check only; I'm so curious. I think she's going to be very popular.)

If you would like to comment on this site, please send me a note and I'll forward it to her mother. Obviously, if I know you you're more likely to get approved. (For obvious reasons, we don't want this little one subjected to the rough-and-tumble of the standard blogging debates.)

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. . . Are campaigning to get more laptop computers into the hands of soldiers, especially those who have been wounded and need a way to stay in touch with their buddies.

The lease is up on a lot of the computers the troops are using, and these can be purchased for them at $249 each.

And they take checks! Those of you who have PayPal-phobia will appreciate that.

Beth has details.

(You'll be hearing more about this from members of the Cotillion, as we think of more and better ways to get money out of your wallets and into a few creature comforts for those fighting to keep us safe. So deal with that.)

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Nice article in the Boston Globe about how to appoint conservatives who don't "trip the extremist trip-wire," and why Roberts will survive the confirmation process.

It would seem that for super-ambitious judges, the rule is, "don't publish [much]—or perish."

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I have a bet with my dad that I can go to the East Coast for my half-sister's wedding for under $600. An experienced traveller, Dad insists it's going to set me back at least $700, no matter how I pinch pennies.

So the gauntlet has been thrown. My airfare will be $320, and I'm flying into Hartford the day before the wedding.

I have a backup car rental, but I'm hoping to get that amount down considerably, and I need cheap housing in the vicinity of Woodbridg—a Motel 6 or something like that.

My main savings will be food: I may go ahead and check my suitcase, because it will be chock-full of peanut butter and jelly, crackers, instant couscous, and Nutri-Grain bars. I'll get a little produce at a local market, but I'm getting my protein as cheaply as I can.

Ideas?

For the purposes of this exercise, the wedding gift is a separate item (besides which, we have a year in which to get it).

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