. . . needs a new job. He's in the San Diego area. I don't know if he's willing to relocate, but I rather doubt it. I wouldn't. It's even prettier down there than it is up here.

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We've got to get more voice-activated laptops to those of our troops who have been wounded and need them. As John Donovan has pointed out, this is something that anyone can support—left, right, and center:

If you're a lefty blogger who wouldn't be caught dead in [our largely right-of-center] list, we understand. We suggest you start your own list, and own campaign, and stuff us warmongering capitalist neocons into the dustbin of charitable giving history. I'm all for it. This is about the wounded. No more, no less. In this case, I will allow the ends to guide my means!

Anyone up to the challenge? You don't have to support the war to support web access for people who wouldn't otherwise be able to operate a computer.

Please support Project Valour—IT (a charity run by Soldiers' Angels). Be generous. Thank you.

Via Cassandra.

Posted by: Attila at 08:01 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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An old article of Andrew Sullivan's from 2002 reminds us why Rice's presence in the White House has been extraordinary from the very beginning. It was written before Rice became Secretary of State, but while she was still the President's trouble-shooter and his most trusted advisor.

At that time, the speculation among Condi-watchers was that Cheney might resign, to be replaced by Rice—who would then become the logical GOP candidate in 2008. I think Cheney was considered a critical part of the inner circle, and not expendable in a time of war. But that doesn't mean the President is not grooming Rice as his successor.

I understand there are some issues to be dealt with: who plays the role of White House hostess if we elect a single—and female—President? And will the voters "forgive" the fact that Condi hasn't run for elected office before?

The nation is at war, and that is a time that customs get folded, spindled, and mutilated (exhibit 1: FDR's third and fourth terms). Condi will find a cousin or niece to assist her in some of the ceremonial duties, or she will hire a domestic version of the chief-of-staff to take over some of the hospitality functions, with the VP stepping in when the visiting dignitaries are important enough. And she will do plenty of gracious entertaining herself, when time permits.

These are solvable problems. Leaving the nation rudderless in a time of war is not.

For more, visit my favorite "Draft Condi" site, Americans for Rice.

Get on board.

Posted by: Attila at 01:03 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I fear the world is about to end: Patterico just got published in the L.A. Times.

And I have to give them a little grudging respect for it, too: he's no more soft-spoken in this op-ed piece than he is in his own blog.

UPDATE: Turns out this is the second time Patterico's been invited to contribute to this "Outside the Tent" series. Kudos to the editor who makes this decision.

Posted by: Attila at 02:39 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Attila the Hub and I are watching the series for the third time. Our copy is on VHS, and it's starting to degrade in quality: we got it sent to us for free ("for your Emmy consideration") because Attila Hub is a member of the television academy, and every once in a while the words "for your consideration" flash across the bottom of the screen.

So we need to get it on DVD before our next viewing.

But I definitely recommend seeing it more than once, because the more you watch it, the more you get to know the "characters" (who are real men, of course: this is a true story). And, loving these men, you notice the "cameos" they play in each other's stories before Tom Hanks turns the spotlight on their own individual narratives.

We watch it at least once a year, but each time I see it I notice more and more subtleties that I didn't see before. All the performances are incredible, but David Schwimmer's is especially noteworthy if you've only seen him do light-hearted situation comedies.

It's not a particularly easy thing to watch, but it fills me with gratitude and awe each time I see it. And it's beautifully done in an epic style: like Middlemarch, except that it's set in the 20th Century and people are getting their legs blown off.

If you haven't seen it, see it. If you haven't seen it lately, give it another look.

Posted by: Attila at 02:21 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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. . . is sick.

Posted by: Attila at 03:20 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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What's the cheapest way to do this? We have a small inheritance sum from one of the husband's relatives in Ireland, but our bank wants hundreds of dollars in service charges to cash it, which seems obscene.

Let me know if you have any ideas.

Posted by: Attila at 02:28 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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. . . has a few words for men regarding penguin love.

(When he sent the link 'round to the Bear Flag League, it was marked "For Boys Only. No Gurlz Allowed." I'm assuming the females read it faster than the males did, human nature being what it is.)

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Via Dean comes this powerful case for allowing Cindy Sheehan to meet with the President. I actually found it quite persuasive.

Posted by: Attila at 03:54 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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. . . with Mr. Linguistics, Scanmaster, and Mahatma. Mahatma's wife and kids are in the house: his sons keep sneaking out of bed, because they are under the impression that it's their God-given right to stay awake until the party's over. Mahatma isn't impressed, and calls out to them periodically to go to bed and stop trying to spy on us.

The rest of us were convinced as the day began that we'd be kicked out at around 11:00, but it doesn't happen, and instead we keep taking snacks off the table and eating them under the stars. I get water for Scanmaster, "water" (vodka) for Mr. Linguistics, and tonic water for myself that sometimes contains booze and sometimes does not. Ms. Mahatma, the enforcer, pretends not to notice that there's alcohol being consumed by hot tubbers, and even jokes at me about "avoiding dehydration" as I hand Mr. Linguistics a robust shot of Three Olives, served in a child-size plastic cup.

Ms. Mahatma points out Mars in the sky. "It's red," she asserts, but I can't tell: it just looks like a blobby bright bit of light to me. She goes back in and finally carries the last sleepy child off, protesting, to bed. And she herself crashes—probably letting us have some college-days gossip in honor of Mahatma's upcoming birthday at the end of the month.

Suddenly the three guys I'm with are talking about how maybe instead of marrying women, they should all have simply married each other way back when. "Linguistics Guy would cook, and Scanmaster would do the dishes. I'd read Steinbeck, and pitch in with a little light housework, plus childcare duties. It would have worked out great," Mahatma sighs.

I could have pointed out that they would all have been living an unacceptable, zero-booby lifestyle, but it would have been too easy. Instead, I proclaim "I can see the romantic appeal, but which one of you would have produced human eggs?"

"We would have hired a surrogate mother," he explains.

"Okay, then: who would fix your car, without having your engineer wife around?"

That stops him in his tracks. "Oh. That wouldn't work, would it?"

"No, not at all," interjects Scanmaster. "One has to have a wife who can fix cars. I want one too, just like Mahatma's." Suddenly, I'm glad my husband can't hear this conversation and know what he's missing.

"Are you going to divorce your existing wife, or just keep going?" I ask Scanman lazily, bringing my feet up to the surface of the hot tub, where the guys' feet have formed a sort of tangled nest in the middle. I perch mine on top of the pile, which brings my butt up, so I'm halfway floating in the tub, suspended between the rim of the pool and the foot-island in its center.

"Oh, Catlady the Poetess won't mind," he tells me. "She'd be happy if I got another wife."

"Then go for it," I tell him. "But make sure the second wife wants kids, and knows her way around an engine. Then you can have a house full of cats, and a separate one with real children in it. And healthy cars."

How hard could that be to find? I think. Especially in L.A.?

I climb out of the hot tub and go inside, putting my street clothes on and throwing the wet swimsuit into my carryall bag. Then I go back out and tell the guys I've got to head back, so I can be home within an hour or so of when I told my husband I'd arrive here.

"But he's asleep, right?" enquires Mahatma.

"Yup. He's getting up early to work on that project I told you about."

"So he won't know," he presses.

"I'll know. And these days I'm trying to do my best impression of adult behavior. Besides, your boys have piano lessons tomorrow, and I have to put my game plan together for the coming week." Not to mention church, of course—and my latest greatest grilling adventure on the patio (lamb for me and and salmon for the husband; thanks for asking).

Mr. Linguistics, Scanmaster and I head out into the starry, starry valley night, hugging Mahatma on our way out the door.

There's nothing more delightful than gossiping in a hot tub with your high-school friends, and going home to plant a very light kiss on your sleeping husband's hair. Then eating a very ripe peach, and going to bed.

At this moment, things could not be more right in my world.

Posted by: Attila at 03:29 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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. . . let's kill all the lawyers.

(With apologies to the Bear Flag League, of course—and most of the Volokh crowd, for that matter.)

Posted by: Attila at 02:20 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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. . . by Hugh Hewitt.

Posted by: Attila at 01:48 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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. . . might become, for the New York Times, what Patterico is to the Los Angeles Times. (Though perhaps not as intensely: it would be difficult to match Patterico's frequency of slapdowns.)

And this could be lovely to watch. (Not to mention the fun I'll have forwarding these tidbits to my father, who maintains that I'm not "literate" because I don't read the NYT. I'm afraid his years on the East Coast warped his brain.)

At any rate, it's Maloney's takedown is sweet; check it out.

(Via Goldstein.)

Posted by: Attila at 12:08 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Iowahawk has it all worked out.

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. . . contemplates the delights of a potential run by Condi.

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I might go out to the Phoenix area for the NFRA convention over Labor Day weekend to support Americans for Dr. Rice as they roll out their media campaign, and meet up with them. They'd like me to go to Tennessee the following week, which I'd love to, but it involves flying—so unless I have enough miles from my last cross-country trek, that one is unlikely for budget reasons. (Also, I suspect I'll be working a new day gig by then, and that amount of travel may just not be wise.)

Arizona, however, is easy as pie: I can drive it in fairly little time, and I know that road (in this case, the 10) like the back of my hand. Unfortunately, my sister-in-law will be out of town—so I can't stay with her—but I might be able to crash with one of the other people from the Draft Condi movement. Even my beloved Holiday Inns (with WiFi!) are far cheaper in Phoenix/Scottsdale than they are in a lot of metropolitan areas. And I know where the Latin grocery stores are in Phoenix, so I can eat on the cheap.

In other words, I might be able to swing this without too much more trauma to my travel budget.

If anyone else is interested in attending, let me know. Obviously, the NFRA is thick with SoCons, but I'd be there to support some of the important "watchdog" functions they perform within the GOP, and to make the case for grassroots work on behalf of Dr. Rice.

If any Phoenix-area bloggers want to meet for lunch or coffee, let me know.

Posted by: Attila at 05:56 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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. . . is looking for someone to take her place while she's away from Crawford. Any takers?

Posted by: Attila at 05:10 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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. . . weigh in on Pierce's Brosnan's retirement from the James Bond franchise.

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. . . have fled the Democratic party due to Cindy Sheehan's antics? And how many more are slowly letting go?

Via Mikal.

Posted by: Attila at 08:49 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Just to get serious for a moment:

1) Angelina Jolie, or Jennifer Aniston?

2) Ginger, or Mary Ann?

3) Did your answers to questions 1 and 2 line up on the "wholesomeness" scale, or on the "dark hair vs. fair hair" scale?

Discuss. All are invited to comment, though comments by straight men and gay women will be weighed more heavily in this very scientific survey.

Posted by: Attila at 03:21 PM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
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