December 12, 2007

Hey. This Ain't No Big Thing.

Everybody gets gastric bypass surgery—and everybody lies about it.

Especially in Arkansas.

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December 11, 2007

"Spectacular," Martin G. Remarks. "Excellent Animation."

Yup. It is. Just realistic enough, just cartooney enough. Just right.

Though of course at first I sent it to Marty not because of his interest in animation but because he's such a hard-core feline aficionado.

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Well, At Least . . .

Muir has resolved the "identical vs. fraternal" question.

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I Regret to Inform Our Readers

. . . that Fausta and I will not, after all, be engaging in a mixed-martial art contest of will in an octoganal cage in order to decide who gets to be crowned "Grande Conservative Blogress Diva 2008."

Our agents were simply unable to hammer out an agreement. As I recall, the sticking point was that her representation would not allow mine to fudge my height in publicity photos, so I look as tall as she is. You know how agents are: can't live with 'em . . . and so on.

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December 10, 2007

"You Know," My Father Tells My Voice Mail,

"I have doctors who return my phone calls, and lawyers who return my phone calls. My son is a prick, and even he returns my phone calls.

So you might want to consider giving me a break."


Okay. I call him. "What's cooking?" I ask.
"Well, I'm getting my car lubed, and the sky is clear, and it's a beautiful day here in the San Fernando Valley. What's happening with you?"
"I'm sick. Can I go now?"

Okay. I didn't say that. But I thought it.

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Michael Vick Skates.

pit_bull_jf.jpg

Twenty-three months, with the possibility of three months off? You've got to be kidding me.

This wasn't, like, the man had an animal he didn't know how to train, and he lost his temper with it. This was systematic—more than premeditated.

I'd suggest turning him over to Mandy, but Mandy would just jump up on him, lick him, and try to get him to throw a tennis ball for her to fetch. She's exactly the type who would have been executed by this piece of shit.

Not so if he were turned over to Mandy's Aunt Joy, the "Dirty Harry" of Pit Bull Advocates. That would be some rough justice—though not anything like what he put those dogs through.

Now go buy a "Happy Endings" calendar from the folks at Pit Bull Rescue Central. Or maybe one of the fun calendars and T-shirts from the BAD-RAP people (Bay Area Doglovers Responsible About Pitbulls). After all, they have one that features pitties and children—and another one geared toward nudists! What more could one ask?

(Photo by Julia Fishkin; borrowed from Pet Monologues.)

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Now You're Making Fred Angry.

You won't like Fred when he's angry. (Though you'll probably end up voting for him, despite yourself.)

"The nuclear program is the most important part of the Iran consideration. For a presidential candidate not to know that and not to keep up with that is very surprising,” said Thompson.

“These are the kinds of things I’ve been talking about all of my life. Now, if the American people have other priorities, if they want someone who smiles a lot more than I do, or someone who is a better quipster than I am, who has no experience in these areas, that’s for the American people to decide.”


Meanwhile, Ace suggests that Huckabee might want to express his private religious convictions in a more private way, rather than using public money for charitable work (via high taxes) and pardoning criminals because they've supposedly converted to his own faith. Some separation of Church and State, he seems to feel, may still be called for:

It appears the primary reason Huckabee sought to release DuMond was the fact that he had found Christ, though, it should be said, apparently he was still looking for Christ inside of the women he would later rape and kill.

When the Huckabee bubble bursts, we'll still be back to Rudy and Fred.

There are things I love about Rudy, but he is not a big civil rights guy (on guns, especially, or on any other issue). Fred "gets" the separation-of-powers thing, and he still takes terrorism seriously.

I don't want a fun President. I want one who will do the job. Part of the job is scaring the shit out of autocratic and dictatorial leaders elsewhere on the globe. Sorry about that, but it's so.

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"Didn't You Ask for This?"

Blackjack isn't too sympathetic to the cause of writers who are on strike:

Don't go on strike if the managment can easily replace you and the public really doesn't give a damn. The networks will simply pump out shows like Who Wants to Hump a Hooters Waitress and you'll watch them, because that kind of stuff amuses you.

What, you are taking umbrage at my comment? That Tila Tequila show is a hit, for crying out loud. Why should the studios listen to writers bitch about DVD royalties when the viewing public will watch a Vietnamese skank whose most notable achievement was adding a shitload of friends to her Myspace page?

I'd advise the writers to get back to work if they can before our entertainment devolves even further. Moore's law has nothing on the speed of that.

Can good television and film writers be replaced "easily"? Yes, and no: No, because it's hard to find good writers. Yes, because the average studio executive, while having a sort of ratlike cunning, possesses the eye for quality of a piece of plankton.

If more executives were looking for quality, the market would change for writers in Los Angeles, and getting a good property optioned/made wouldn't be so much like winning the mother-fucking lottery.

Instead of seeking quality and originality, studios look for what's made money in the past (The Harry Potter franchise; The Passion of the Christ) and make something that reminds them as much of that as possible, but without any pro-religion or pro-Democracy messages that may have crept into the prototype (The Golden Compass). If the film industry were all about the market, why would it be losing money like crazy on a boatload of anti-war, anti-American crap? Particularly when even Bruce Willis can't gain support for a movie about American successes in Iraq, based on the writing of Michael Yon?

And now the idiots in the studios would like writers to bend over and grab their ankles so they can get fucked in the ass just as hard on the internet as they have with DVD/VHS distribution. And reality show/animation writers can continue to get locked out of the Guild—which they'd like to be in, and which would like to have them.

Let me break it to you, kids: the cost of producing movies will continue to go down. The public will continue to seek its entertainment (verbal, visual, and audio) on the internet. Truly independent filmmakers will be able to market their work in better ways.

And in the long term, my friends, those of you who act as gatekeepers for television and film content are going to lose. Because the walls and and the gates are coming down.

As Deborah Harry would say: Bye-bye, Sugar—and not a moment too soon.

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Mark Steyn's Statement

. . . on his legal problems in Canada.

This is the logical endpoint of politically correct "speech codes."

I'm off to buy another copy of America Alone, along with another copy of Jonathan Rauch's Kindly Inquisitors. Under the circumstances, they make nice companion pieces.

I just started Dinesh D'Souza's What's So Great About Christianity? And, yes: I do intend to read God Is Not Great, by the amazing (and great) Christopher Hitchens.

Because you know what's great? Free speech, and freedom of the press. Those are two of the most bitchin' concepts out there.

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December 09, 2007

Please, God.

No. Just no.


I don't think I could vote for Huckabee. I just cannot envision doing that. He's at the far end of statism—just because it claims to be benevolent doesn't make it any less a dictatorship.

No.

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Rauch

. . . on The Curse of Short Men.

It applies to women, too. Though I get more heightism from other women than I do from men. There is this weird dynamic in which tall women feel entitled to "look down" on shorter women (figuratively, as well as literally), and treat them as if they were children.

Men, on the other hand, pretend to take short chicks seriously on an intellectual level; presumably, this is because this gives them a safe vantage point from which to stare at one's boobs.

Of course, there are the men who decide that a short chick with a figure right out of the 1930s is probably not much of a thinker. These people make me giggle, and provide great fodder for character studies.

Watch out for novelists with Napoleon complexes, okay?

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Now This Is a Goddamned Bar of Chocolate.

Mmmm.

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December 08, 2007

Steyn and Racism

Yeah, right. Whatever.

The only thing in America Alone that bothered me along those lines was that segment—a couple of pages out of the whole damned book—in which Steyn discussed "Hispanics" and "assimilation," and "learning English."

All very understandable coming from a Canadian who moved to New England and has spent little time in the Southwest. But of course there are plenty of people in the (make-believe) category of "Hispanic" who speak nothing but Engish. It sounds like it's a reference to a linguistic tradition, but there's nothing in any "Hispanic's" blood that I don't have: lots of European, a dash of Native American, some eye of newt, and goodness-knows-what-else. An easy mistake for a Northeasterner/Canadian/Brit to make, I imagine. And, of course, I don't have his command of the Old World—nor of stage and screen.

Racist, no? Deceived by census categories? Yes.


Insty, natch.

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Nice Traffic for a Saturday.

But what's with all the search engine shit? And why are people looking for "Grinch sweater"? Where the fuck, BTW, did they find it on my blog?

Good to know people are out there looking for Jan Libourel; the man should really have his own site, BTW.

The last time I saw Jan, it was at a memorial service for the great Dave Arnold, gunwriter and true gentleman of a type they simply don't make any more.

Jan was trying to bait the rest of us, as usual. He expressed his "admiration" for Osama bin Laden. "All that fortune," he sighed. "Such a wealthy family. He could have spent it all on wine, women, and song, but instead he chose to take on the world's one remaining superpower."

I used to rise to these things, years ago—before I got old and tired and jaded.

"Yes," I agreed. "Osama has tremendous self-discipline. He's quite a man."

True, of course.

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Huckabee and Smoking

Ace has the scoop.

Money quote:

He really cares about my health.

It's nice and all, but here's the deal, Nurse Mike H: If I want a fucking full-time health monitor I'll fucking get married, all right?

Which is funny, of course. Though possibly slightly denigrating to women . . . or, um . . . men . . . or, um . . . robots . . . or um . . . beasts . . . or, um . . . whatever it is that Ace has in mind when he types the word "marriage."

Not that there's anything wrong with whatever-that-might-be.

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December 07, 2007

And More on Pearl Harbor Day.

With a more explicit comparison to the events of six years ago.

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Some Nice Catblogging

. . . over at Sissy Willis' place.

I mean that in the literal, rather than the perjorative, sense—of course.

I'm starting to think cats might be okay, if I could get over the allergies. The problem is, once you have cats, allergic people can't visit you. And if all allergic people acclimate themselves to cats, it's still not a solution. After all, the CalBlog twins are allergic to cats other than their own.

I was skeptical when I heard that. "No," Caltech Girl assured me. "It's a big molecule. It's entirely possible for someone to be reacting to only a small part of it."

The only solution? Gradually replace the existing stock of cats in the world with genetically engineered hypoallergenic ones whose saliva (and therefore fur) is missing the allergen. (I originally found out about these cats from neurobiologist David Linden, so I shall go full-circle and find some photo-blogging by him, thereby cleverly bringing my post back to where it began, with Sisu's photo-blog. There. This one is perfect for a gray, Sissy Willis-like cozy day, and this is my favorite of his recent landscapes. It's almost Adams-eque.)

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DEVO . . .

Part of me is digging it. Part of me is all, "what were we thinking?"

I didn't see a date on this performance, but IIRC those red hats came in around Album #3, though this song is album #1. So I suspect this same concert featured a performance of "Whip It."

(I could be wrong. I was wrong once before, but it was a long time ago, and I don't like to talk about it much.)

Thanks to resident drummer Hog Beatty, who forwards it along with the observation that, "yeah, it's fast."

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Happy Pearl Harbor Day.

"Mostly we battled a mindset that said, despite two years of war all around us, we'd be just fine." Yup.

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Yet More on Ron Paul.

I know my negativity about Ron Paul is annoying people, but I just cannot get around his attitude toward the war, which seems short-sighted to me. This terrorism dealiebopper is a long, tough game of chess, and I don't much like the Paul strategy (nor the general tendancy of big-L Libertarians toward isolationism).

And then there's this.

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