or something like that.

Women's Voices/Women's Vote is taking nominations for female bloggers. Please nominate your favorite chick bloggers, and then vote for 'em later on.

As usual, I'd recommend the entire Cotillion, along with such other high-estrogen powerhouses as Michelle Malkin, Kate McMillan, RightGirl, and ZendoDeb.

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vs. Getting the Job Done, and the history of that "red pickup truck" fundraising gimmick at the Fred Thompson campaign website.

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Over fourteen minutes' worth, in fact.

Via Robert Bluey's blog, I just found out what I would have realized three weeks ago, had I been paying attention: Townhall has video of the Blogger of the Year Award, along with other highlights from CPAC 2008.

You could tell when the BotY Award was about to begin: everyone unglued himself/herself from the monitor near Bloggers' Row, and physically went upstairs to the ballroom, which is normally too, um, brightly lit for our ilk. I sat next to Fausta, James Joyner, and David Foster of Photon Courier and Chicago Boyz for the speech, and watched the rest of my kin drift in as the time drew near. By the time Bluey began his introduction, the room was nearly packed with—as Dave Burge calls us—troubled loners.

"If I talk into that thing, does it make me ghey?

And Ace gave a great speech, though he did have sort of a love/hate relationship with the microphone; the right sound engineer might be able to get the mike to rock back and forth as he steps forward and backward, thereby keeping him at the same distance from it as he speaks. Would some, um, "moron" get right on that?

And we in the "new media" loved the pep talk on civic responsibility, and citizen involvement in governance. Mostly, though, we loved the idea that if we keep at this nonsense long enough, someone might hand each of us a check, just for ranting away on our laptops. (Okay—that perception is based on a sample of . . . one. that is to say, I might be projecting.)

EB: "There are conventions for bloggers?"
Joy: "Yes. They also had 'em in the 1980s for people who worked in computer graphics. Which wasn't a real industry 25 years ago; it was all subsized research and passion-fueled speculation. No one had yet figured out how to make a buck off of it."

"Oh, right . . . your husband works in that field. Doesn't he?"

Someone has to pioneer these things, you know. Trails don't just blaze themselves.

UPDATE 1: Photo added.

UPDATE 2: My other groundbreaking investigative reporting on how bloggers like to pat themselves and each other on the back is here. I managed, you'll note, to drop Joyner's name in both entries; you don't think that's going too far, do you?

I don't have any good pictures of James; most of the time when I point a camera in his direction he sports this look like, "must you? Every year? Have I really changed that much in the last 365 days?"

"Not this, again." James Joyner being a good sport under adverse conditions at CPAC 2007; pictured here with Mary Katherine Ham of Townhall and Sean Hackbarth of The American Mind.

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Isn't Mark Steyn still the obituarist for The Atlantic? Does that mean in the next issue of Atlantic (or, perhaps, the one after that) I will get to read a tribute to one right-wing stud/god penned by yet another right-wing stud/god?

Everyone tells me Buckley was tired, and felt that he'd accomplished everything he wanted to. He was in the process of releasing this life, and he died at his desk—which sounds like the place to do it, too.

UPDATE: I forgot that Steyn blogs at NRO! Here we go: Mark Steyn on Bill Buckley.

I know what Jonah means about a life well-lived, as Bill's certainly was, but it's still hard to believe there'll be no more Buckley columns on this week's news, and next week's and next month's, and hard not to feel cheated that we were denied a nonagenarian Buckley sailing on in vigorous health toward his next century.

On the other hand, we lost Michael Kelly when he was still terribly young, and hadn't delivered on all his delicious promise.

How many of us really do, by the way?

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Though I know the video is trying to play the "Republicans Are Homophobes" card, and of course I wasn't crazy about the "New York Money guy" stereotype.

I mean, aren't most of us "totally gay for the U.S.A."? It's just that most of the boy-warbloggers out there . . . well, internationally speaking, gay or straight, they seem to be more interested in pitching vs. catching.

It makes a difference, you know.

h/t: Promenade Attorney.

("Excuse me while I strap this on . . .")

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. . . on the issue of experience? It didn't work so well when Senator Clinton tried it, but she was a special case.

Sean has some thoughts on how likely this would be to be effective—plus some juicy bonus video, and a little primo snark from Allahpundit.

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Adorable pets everywhere are getting nervous around now.

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"Mmmmm. Caltech Girl?"

"No, it's Darleen. We're here at the restaurant. Are you on your way?"

"I'm on my way, I just . . . where are my glasses?"

"I don't know where you put your glasses, Dear. But Caltech Girl wanted to make sure you were awake."

"'Course I'm awake. Been up for hours. Izzer coffee down there?"

"There's coffee down the hill, yes. And Greta's here. We're waiting for you at the restaurant."

"Where are my glasses?"

"Have you checked your nightstand?"

"Oh, yeah, hey. There they are. But now I can't find my cell phone."

"Honey—it's in your hand. We called you on your cell phone."

"Okay, then I'll see you guys in a few. They have coffee there?"

"Yes, there's coffee. It's a restaurant. Just drive down the hill, okay?"

"Okay. Is Greta there?"

"Yes, Joy. Greta's here."

"Okay. I'll see you in ten minutes. But I might not have my cell phone with me. I can't find it anywhere."

The record should reflect the fact that Darleen was there on time, despite the fact that she drove in from Riverside County.

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[Potential gin-industry sponsors: I command you to ignore this post!]

Ladies and gentlemen . . . the man. The phenomenon. The eyebrow. Stephen Colbert.

Has anyone ever noticed how Jeff P., during his not-so-brief reign in the blogosphere (before he retired to do Real Writing again), never called himself gay? It was always "as a homo . . . "

I miss Jeff. And he's 400 miles away. Road trip!

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FireDogLake.

It was rather a fascinating exchange (a few posts down, wherein I refer to Allahpundit's take on The NYT). Though very ADHD, of course.

Their heads are, for the most part, so full of interesting stereotypes about "the right." We're like cardboard characters to them.

At least some of them "get" that Macs rule . . . And even my troll referred to Sharia Law as an "abomination."

Common ground! See? We can all get along.

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Ready to lube up and take one for the team.

But markedly unenthusiastic, according to the latest John Hawkins poll.

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. . . when there isn't anything good on the internet.

I may have to go read one of those dead-tree thingies.

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. . . in a cold sweat, wondering about Cream of Wheat. Concerned about whether it . . . you know . . . plays for the other team.

Today, I read this awful confirmation.

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Thanks for the traffic, Darlin'. Just let me know what you need, and . . . I'll be there.

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"When you publish these little character sketches, snippets of dialogue, bits of gossip and the like, how do your political readers react?"

"My readers? I'm supposed to be thinking of my readers?

"Yes; your readers."

"Oh. Now that you mention it, that explains a few things."

That's why some of us become CPAC's Blogger of the Year, and others do not: Dedication. Stuff like that.

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. . . will be experiencing real, sustained hunger any time soon.

We've forgotten what that feels like.

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Who could fail to fall for Right Girl? Not me.

She's my own little Hadji Girl. Except that I actually get along with her family—at least, with her warm and charming husband.

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I knew my cousin Attila would understand that I was slammed for time this year, and didn't have the time to see him.

Also, what would we have talked about? My antipathy for McCain? I'm even boring myself with that subject these days.

Instead, I had my bi-annual lunch with Mr. Photon Courier, (also of Chicago Boyz). We discussed money, the human condition, and whether homo sapiens are really wired for happiness.

Thanks for the link, Cuz. Next time, for sure; I'm actually trying to get out here in the late summer/early fall. We'll see what happens.

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who is standing there, innocently signing books.

I don't tell him who I am, or explain that I loved America Alone, or that I saw his speech a couple of years ago at the Claremont Institute dinner in Beverly Hills. Or that Kate McMillan would vouch for my work, or that I link to Steyn's articles a lot.

I just walk up out of nowhere and announce that "I'd like a hug, and a picture," handing the camera to one of my Canadian Blog-Mafia friends.

To Steyn's credit, he hugged me, and Roy got the shot just as we were coming out of the hug. "Um, I'm a bit cut off here," I tell Roy. "Mark, would you mind making out with me just one more time?"

After we get the picture I give him my card and tell him why I appreciate the work he's doing, and explain that my favorite Canadian bloggers see a huge backlash starting in Canada over the free speech issue. We have a nice chat. But it starts with Steyn being a good sport. That's a non-trivial issue, no?

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After the Blogger of the Year Award, I had lunch with David Foster of Photon Courier and Chicago Boyz.

David's good on management issues. Actually, so am I—mostly because I've worked at a lot of badly run companies. But what David is also good at—and I am not—is making money, and holding onto it. So we talk a lot about my ideas for starting new businesses. As with others I've spoken to, he thinks I should go with The Really Scary Idea, rather than the Only Moderately Scary Idea. He has the right to be wrong, just like all the others.

And I, of course, have the right to be a rank coward.

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