I believe I can speak for my entire readership when I say, "kewl."

Posted by: Attila Girl at 02:27 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Do as you must, Jeff. And thanks for the memories.

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is jumping over to join The Atlantic's blogging team.

Via McArdle.

Oh, sure: officially he's a lefty. But he's a commonsense, ultimately centrist kind of guy, and I enjoy his writing.

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I dunno. Ask his wife.

In the meantime, here's an oldie-but-goodie from Darrell:

Posted by: Attila Girl at 04:34 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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But first, buy me a drink. Dirty martini, Tanqueray, extra olives. Light on that vermouth.

(Warning: this is a minor resurrection of the old "are women underrepresented in the blogosphere?" issue. Proceed with caution.)

Posted by: Attila Girl at 04:07 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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I really dug this bloggingheads dialogue between two of the most independent thinkers out there today--on growing up in B-More; the politics of drug legalization; the power of demonstrations, the war in Iraq, etc. etc.

McArdle needs a bit of help with her makeup; I think she was under fluorescents or something like that, so it yellowed her out just a little. Coates looks great, like black people often do in indoor lighting conditions (no strong sunlight, no visors--none of that stuff that makes black people invisible without a fill-flash). I'm sure there is a good cottage industry to be formed around do-it-yourself makeup for home-office conditions, to cater to the "Bloggingheads"-syle formats.

Anyway, cool stuff to be found therein. For the record, I probably disagree with both McArdle and Coates at least 50% of the time: but they always make me think, which is rawkin', intellectually speaking. They are therefore both completely addictive.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 02:53 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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. . . for new Constitutional Amendments. Some of these are keepers:

A healthy, hearty breakfast, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to make and eat pancakes, shall not be infringed.

Style, affordability and comfort, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to buy quality foot wear shall not be infringed.

Lethargy, sloth and ennui, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to watch c-spanÂ’s coverage of the House of Representatives shall not be infringed.

Read the whole thing.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:13 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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1 Bugger pancakes. Instant noodles/ramen, sausages, ham, eggs and bacon are the only good groups I willl acknowledge forming a good breakfast at home. My aunt used to cook that for my cousin and me every Saturday. I miss those days... If eating out, Chinese noodle dishes, dim sum and quite possibly chocolate chip muffins.

Posted by: Gregory at July 21, 2008 09:49 PM (cjwF0)

2 I won't say I haven't done noodles/Ramen for breakfast, because I have. But for a native-born, provincial American, that's strictly a college-days-like, unorthodox option. Like leftover pizza--also an exquisite breakfast food, but not one I'd combine with ham, eggs, hash browns, or anything so traditional among The People of the Melting Pot. (Unless the ham is part of the leftover pizza itself: I have a "thing" for Hawaiian-style—pineapple and Canadian bacon pizza is appropriate at every hour of every day. I wish I had some here right now, matter of fact.)

Posted by: Attila Girl at July 21, 2008 10:19 PM (1q/ac)

3 Well, you haven't tried it all at once yet, have you? I tell you, after you've had your fill of some rashers of fried bacon, fried ham, eggs sunny side up, and a coupla sausages, the instant noodles (we have a brand of /dry/ ones called Indomee) really hits the spot. Maybe you should go down to Adelaide, South Australia for a while. I hear the Pancake House has an all-you-can-eat thing going on...

Posted by: Gregory at July 22, 2008 04:33 AM (ML/O7)

4 I must have been on drugs when I suggested pancakes. What was I thinking? I just hope that you'll all forgive me for that incredible gaffe. Ah, lovely Adelaide, the first free colony in Austrailia. Pater, Mater, the twins and I motored there from Sydney. The charms of Jerilderie, Woga Woga, Bathhurst and Swan Hill paled when compared to the Jewel of the Murray. I didn't know Adelaide was noted for its flap jacks I thought it was just a convenient way to sop up beer. I was too busy avoiding the assorted flora and fauna that can kill you in three steps.

Posted by: The Dutchman at July 22, 2008 02:31 PM (KxjVC)

5 货架、 货架

Posted by: Steel pallet" rel="nofollow">钢托盘 at March 07, 2009 06:37 AM (xEqmt)

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Entertainment Scientists Warn Miley Cyrus Will Be Depleted by 2013

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No more screen names! No more anonymity! We could make the online world into a stalkers' paradise! Thanks, Virgil Griffith.

I know Wikipedia is different than the net at large, because of corporate users distorting their entries. But just as the solution for the problem of free speech is more speech, perhaps the problem of Wiki-bias is more bias.

The strange thing about Wikipedia is how little some entries are patrolled, but how heavily others are. I have a bad habit of editing articles about people I know, both to screen out some details that might be too useful to stalkers (the first name of someone's wife, which is immaterial to his career and—given the minor nature of his celebrity—unnecessary) and to add juicy little tidbits that I find interesting. Of course, finding published sources to back this information up isn't always easy, or possible. Sometimes my helpful additions get tagged as "unsourced," which is vaguely irritating: if I had time to write full-on biographies of these people, would I be noodling around on Wikipedia? There are only so many hours in a day, and there's the laundry to be done.

I'm particularly amused by how vigorously people patrol Adam Carolla's article on Wikipedia. I had placed a sentence in the "personal" section of his entry about how he likes pie, and prefers it to cake on his birthdays. This notation was removed within a few days. I asked the editor why he'd taken it out, and was told that since the factoid was "unsourced," it seemed like it might constitute "vandalism."

It occurred to me to just say "ask anyone—ask any of his friends. Ask Adam. He's into pie. He just is." But I didn't happen to care enough, and I let the edit stand. But I'm still enchanted by the idea that suggesting that someone prefers pie to cake is libelous. Didn't Oscar Wilde once sue someone for accusing him of liking pastries that featured fruity fillings? Maybe I'm confused on that score.

Another piece of my "vandalism" on Carolla's entry that was removed immediately had to do with the fact that when he and my husband were roommates (for about a month, in the 1990s), they had a big Moe head in the living room (one of the Pep Boys: you know—Manny, Moe, and Jack). I had thought that was safely in the public realm, because my niece tells me Adam has discussed living with my husband, and their having that Moe bust, on the air. But that datum was also taken out, perhaps because of the totalitarian overtones of the Pep Boys. How is it, I've always wondered, that they know what I'm after? Are they like Santa Claus, creeping around in my mind, determining if I'm naughty or nice? Who are St. Nick, Manny, Moe, or Jack to judge me, after all?

Of course, it may be that neither any of the Pep Boys nor Santa Claus know me as well as Virgil Griffith does. He might be the scariest figure of them all.

Wiki-hacker link via Glenn Reynolds, who may have more on people than Griffith himself. Those two could put together a nice little blackmail business together, come to think of it; the very idea makes me shiver.

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I'm not in Austin for the Defending the Dream Conference.

I'm not in San Francisco for the BlogHer Conference. (But please—call that city "Frisco." It makes people from the Bay Area go all red in the face, and it's fun to watch. Like anthropomorphized lava lamps, all of 'em.)

On the other hand, I will be in San Diego next week for Comic-Con (no, I'm not a fangirl; I will be there, as Joan Didion once wrote about the experience of going to college and thereby exploring the realm of the abstract, "on a forged passport"). But I'll be digging it anyway: I love the SD convention center, and the nearby gas lamp district with all those bitchin' art galleries. I'll be breaking in my new videocam at the convention, though I cannot vouch in advance for the quality of the footage.

But let me know if you'll be nearby and might feel an overwhelming urge to buy me a good cup of coffee (or a martini, for that matter). It's what you'd expect: there are certain parties I must attend, and those that I can blow off. So try me.

And I'll most definitely be at Siggraph this August. (Though the Free Pass Fairy hasn't been here yet. Hm. Free Pass Fairy, are you reading? Chop, chop.) I've been trying to talk the other locals into getting a room/suite for one night downtown so I can crash in his/her/their/its room instead of having to drive back home. But none of my friends seem to understand that my need to party trumps that $200 or whatever it is that's burning a hole in their pocket. (I have no idea what rooms cost in downtown Los Angeles. I don't care. I only know that I'm being asked to engage in mature behavior by attenuating my drinking, and that the very idea is offensive to me. Someone was supposed to simply take care of that problem, and I'm suffering. Suffering.)

So if you're going to be in L.A. for that computer graphics thingamabob in August, let me know. Especially if you've got a room. I'll be by around 2:30 a.m. with a sleeping bag and a bad case of the giggles. If you try to cop a feel, I'll blow your brains out with my Glock. But in the friendly way. The good way. I happen to b a great shot when I'm in my cups.

Where I am, tonight, if you must know, is in Glendale, California: I'm playing The Slider Game. The Slider Game is that fun little romp in which one opens various windows in the condominium, figuring out which ones will let in the most noise. Or, rather, the least amount of noise, but the maximum amount of air. This involves computing the way voices bounce off of the neighborhood's closest swimming pools and various external walls. At least, it would if I were one of you engineering types—but I'm not. Instead, I'm employing the Empirical Method to see how well I can cross-ventilate this place without enduring too many screams of childish laughter from the local kids, or too many earnest discussions over strong coffee in Armenian. (Because earnest people make me cranky, no matter what language they are speaking.)

Now some idiot is going to suggest that I turn on the A/C. No. We do not turn on the A/C unless the temperature reaches 100 degrees. Did my forebears, crossing the Oregon Trail in their covered wagons, go around turning on the air when the ambient temperatures were in the double-digits? They did not. They merely had an extra glass of pinot grigio that afternoon as they watered the horses. Or, if all their friends were having fun in Austin, TX, or in SF, CA at some sort of blog-related conference, they treated themselves to an extra olive in their martinis that evening as they circled the wagons.

The next morning, they started out again, ferrying the rest of their charges out here to the West Coast for whatever reasons people came West in those days. (Gold, or agriculture, or filmmaking, or computer programming, or defense subcontracting/space exploration: it's all the same, no?)

I come from pioneer stock, and I'm tough. No air-conditioning for me. It's cooling down, anyway. I might have some mango-pineapple juice, though. The white-trash-WASP forebears were way into that stuff as well.

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. . . messes with my mind.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:46 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Proper computer wear for conservatives consists of panties, a tank top or loose bra, and a robe, hoodie, or flannel shirt nearby for when the midnight breeze rushes in through the sliders. (Close the windows? No, never: it ranges between 80 and 95 degrees during the afternoons around here.)

And socks. Always socks. Wool most of the year; cotton during the dog days.

Let's stick to the facts, Chris.

And full-on pajamas? Strictly for wimps. With, um, all due respect.

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1 I shoulda got the socks right,damn.

Posted by: Chris Muir at July 09, 2008 05:20 AM (Qn+aj)

2 They tend to be fluffy, and striped. Just so you know.

Posted by: Attila Girl at July 09, 2008 09:49 AM (1q/ac)

3 Well... Fay Wray*. 'nuff said, right? *okay, I'd be a necrophile if I went after her now, but still, that's what film is for, right? But no, that's my real name; I'm not so fussed about identity theft in this respect. /could be worse //parents could have named be George ///and then where would I be? Haven't kissed any girls yet... ////made them cry, yes. Sit on them, yes. Grabbed their chests & asses, yes. Kissed, not so much.

Posted by: Gregory at July 10, 2008 12:11 AM (cjwF0)

4 货架 货架

Posted by: at February 27, 2009 04:21 AM (MuEBu)

5 货架、 货架

Posted by: at March 01, 2009 05:55 AM (+Xe1F)

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