That's largely because of Richard Warman, who is now suing Five Feet of Fury, Small Dead Animals, Ezra Levant, and the folks at Free Dominion. As you might suppose, Warman has been involved with the Human Rights Commission up there; they are the ones who've made Mark Steyn's life so . . . interesting.

What an evil man. I'm hoping to see a single defense fund put together for these folks, but in the meantime, let's hit their tip jars. Hard.

Via Protein Wisdom and The Nose on Your Face (the latter site is selling Ezra Levant T-shirts, which are now being reissued to help the Free Speech Five with their defenses . . . er, defences [I may lapse into commonwealth English now and then for the next few months, as a sign of solidarity with our Canadian brethren]).

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without also assuring the women that they were also, in fact, the victims in this "victimless crime."

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You have nothing to lose but . . . the chicks.

Via Insty, who cooks. Cooks, I tell you. Every now and then, that "men who cook" grass looks . . . moss green.

Then A the H makes a brilliant joke, and finds a dead rat in a trap somewhere that has to be disposed of. It isn't that I am unwilling to handle this task. It simply is that I haven't had to in this particular partnership—18 years down the line—and that's been fine with me.

I'm getting used to the idea that dead rats just get dispatched quickly somehow (from a pellet gun, I believe) and then are taken somewhere with healthy populations of coyotes and wild cats. Then they disappear. Poof!

Whose side am I on?—you know: truth, beauty. Shit like that.

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But somehow this seems like it might cheer the family up a bit:

Depending upon the family, of course.

Unless I'm just turning . . . getting to be a bit . . . trending Okinawan, or something like that.

h/t: CalTech Girl.

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I've always wished that Christopher Buckley would write more in his own voice, rather than in the comic style he uses to such great effect.

It isn't as good as I anticipated; it's even better. Thank you, Christopher. Thank you, National Review. Thank you, Vodkapundit.

Image via National Review, in the Christopher Buckley story linked above, "My Old Man and the Sea."

And thank you, William F. Buckley, Jr. Godspeed.

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Glenn's new camera hasn't just overcome time and space—but any objections!

The entire thing is here, and it looks pretty accurate (others from Harvey in Wiki appear off by a word or two—and the punctuation leaves a bit to be desired.)

Oh, yes! Yes. Yes—these things always work out just the way Harvey says they will. He is very, very versatile. Did I tell you he could stop clocks? Well, you've heard the expression 'his face would stop a clock'? Well, Harvey can look at your clock and stop it. And you can go anywhere you like—with anyone you like—and stay as long as you like. And when you get back, not one minute will have ticked by . . . You see, science has overcome time and space. Well, Harvey has overcome not only time and space, but any objections.

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was just a piece of fabric. It turns out it's something more delicate than that: gossamer-thin. Not strong, like silk. More . . . organic. Not sturdy, like wool.

I wish we'd stop making Old Glory out of toilet paper. I really would. What on Earth was Betsy Ross thinking, setting a precedent like that?

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has some kind of paid writing gig, the filthy whore. I didn't know those were even still out there:

Okay, I completed the first five paragraphs of my "real writing" assignment, so now it's time to goof off some more by reading Little Miss Atilla's suggestion to stressed-out, overweight bloggers:

Hint: have your readers send you gin, instead of snacks. That'll help.

Easy on the gin, Sweetheart. We know what happens when you get into the gin. If only we had pictures . . .

Speaking of pictures, Fausta has pictures of stressed-out bloggers living it up at a blog conference in New Jersey. OK, maybe they weren't "living it up." It's New Jersey, after all.

Just because you don't have pictures doesn't mean they don't exist, Robert Stacy. In point of fact, there are pictures of Mrs. Goldstein and me talking about good, old-fashioned feminism in Santa Barbara at the YAF Conference. I believe after my second dirty martini I uttered the phrase "forty-nine-percent majority" in reference to those of the dude-ish persuasion, and Ace of Spades has never let me forget that one. But why was he eavesdropping on girl talk, anyway?

Oh, and here—for everyone else—is the link to Fausta's blog, and the pix from the aforementioned East Coast blogstravaganza. (Body count: zero. Extraordinary, no?)

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And—unlike those whose blogs are actually read—I'm not even getting paid. That's double the oppression, in my book.

Stacy gets a kick out of the capitalistic exploitation suffered by us poor beleaguered information workers (and they are especially concerned about us at The New York Times, which is bleeding jobs because of New Media):

Of course, the bloggers can work elsewhere, and they profess a love of the nonstop action and perhaps the chance to create a global media outlet without a major up-front investment. At the same time, some are starting to wonder if something has gone very wrong. In the last few months, two among their ranks have died suddenly.

Two weeks ago in North Lauderdale, Fla., funeral services were held for Russell Shaw, a prolific blogger on technology subjects who died at 60 of a heart attack. In December, another tech blogger, Marc Orchant, died at 50 of a massive coronary. A third, Om Malik, 41, survived a heart attack in December.

Other bloggers complain of weight loss or gain, sleep disorders, exhaustion and other maladies born of the nonstop strain of producing for a news and information cycle that is as always-on as the Internet.

To be sure, there is no official diagnosis of death by blogging, and the premature demise of two people obviously does not qualify as an epidemic. There is also no certainty that the stress of the work contributed to their deaths. But friends and family of the deceased, and fellow information workers, say those deaths have them thinking about the dangers of their work style.

Karl at Protein Wisdom is concerned about the reports of weight gain among bloggers. (Hint: have your readers send you gin, instead of snacks. That'll help.)

I'm gonna die laughing . . . Or, die blogging. Definitely the way to go—with a smile on my face.

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The Cotillion update page therein now contains MK Ham (goodness knows how we'd managed to omit her, but I'm not complaining, since I tend to leave the hard lifting to others in this arena) and new Cotillionite Nice Deb.

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Instead of turning the blog completely off, I'm going to stop writing anything intelligent here for the next month . . .

. . . What do you mean, "done and done . . . "?

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I would, however, prefer that Gmail were sending astral projections of me back in time to keep my appointments and social engagements after I sleep in, forget, or become distracted by shiny objects/the internet.

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I'm ready for my close-up. book deal.

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one realizes one's deepest unconscious longings are actually for the right kind of extermination method:

Originally found at November Fire, and brought to you via David Linden.

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And then, it's a crime.

This is worse than most cyber-stalking. Worse than those fucktards who call up people's employers and try to get them fired because of some idiotic disagreement on a fuckin' discussion thread.

It's about on a level with those assholes who remove the stop signs at intersections, to see whether someone will die, or whether there will just be massive bodily harm.

See why that's funny, Mommy? It happened to someone else! That makes it hilarious!

h/t: Ace.

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He's running excerpts from Obama's memoir:

"You Obama men are all the same," snapped Aoma testily as I climbed into the Land Rover. "Always abandoning your village, alway chasing after something on the horizon. What is it you need that you can't find here? Why must you leave your home?"

I thought for a minute, and looked into my half-sister's eyes. "I have to go," I said. "The video arcade in Nairobi just got Mortal Kombat II."

She rolled her eyes, unable to understand that deep longing that compelled me on the arduous two day journey across the Serengeti. When I finally arrived again in Nairobi, amid the dusty bustle of the market and the bloobidy-bloobidy-bloop of the arcade, I experienced an intense personal epiphany. It occurred to me that no matter their skin color, no matter their station in life, all humans have a deep-seated need to hog the Mortal Kombat machine. In that sense, the Kenyans at the arcade were no different that the white kids at the Galleria, although there were probably fewer Goths.

Read the whole thing.

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Created by OnePlusYou - Free Online Dating

Via Rachel Lucas, who appears to have obtained a more realistic evaluation.

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The Cotillion will be sponsoring a promotion of conservative male bloggers, because the male sector of the b-sphere is under-promoted.

Please try to remember that just because a guy has a pretty face, it doesn't mean he's qualified. We'd like to see some fresh analysis as well.

We're not just looking for conservative bloggers who are male, by the way: we'd also like to see some thoughtful coverage of men's issues: football, baseball, getting grossed out by the leavings of makeup and menses, power tools, weak beer, misunderstanding things women say, pretending not to be able to feed oneself, and the like.

Please leave your suggestions in the comments.

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1 It's the least we can do; I have a feeling of noblesse oblige about this.

Posted by: Attila Girl at March 31, 2008 04:20 PM (BYH4x)

2 Justifying John's opinion, I see... ;>

Posted by: Desert Cat at March 31, 2008 05:40 PM (Q8AsJ)

3 Noblesse Oblige? Doesn't it always trend toward the Chippendales when the Cotillion is involved?

Posted by: Darrell at March 31, 2008 07:29 PM (ocnUJ)

4 Those poor, poor dancers. Forced to do that to make a buck. We always tip as much as we can. If we have anything left after the drink tab's paid, that is . . .

Posted by: Attila Girl at March 31, 2008 07:56 PM (Hgnbj)

5 Like if there's EVER anything left! You're not fooling me! You tip in pennies just to make those costumes fall apart faster. Is it any wonder that those poor guys usually enroll in trade school or the seminary after a Cotillion night out? No wonder your pictures are posted at the door! Or so I've read. . .

Posted by: Darrell at March 31, 2008 08:08 PM (ocnUJ)

6 We're wanted, dead or alive. But mostly alive.

Posted by: Attila Girl at March 31, 2008 08:39 PM (Hgnbj)

7 Always! Either way I think the gin tab would be the same! That may be why they're building two new distilleries in Heaven, btw. Or so I've read. Or did I see it on Benny Hinn?

Posted by: Darrell at March 31, 2008 09:14 PM (ocnUJ)

8 I used to see "Benny Hinn" in the TV Guide and assume it was a typo, and they meant "Benny Hill."

Posted by: Attila Girl at March 31, 2008 10:15 PM (Hgnbj)

9 Yipes! Stay away from the Woundup! If "men's issues" are defined as "football, baseball, getting grossed out by the leavings of makeup and menses, power tools, weak beer" and such, I'm not a player. I DO misunderstand what women say, but it's usually because they say it while I'm wasting ti... thoroughly engrossed in a highly important thing involving my computer, and I sometimes don't quite catch what was said. I have one (count 'em) power tool that helped me build the cheap Home Depot bookcases that currently adorn our home. Otherwise, my views are, essentially, that professional athletes are overpaid whiners and drug abusers, my wife is menopausal and never wears makeup (doesn't need any), and I have never in nearly 50 years had an alchoholic beverage (unless you count the old Robitussins). Good luck finding male conservatives who are thoughtful about anything. Especially when they've been drinking weak beer. Talk about setting the bar a titch high...

Posted by: Woody at April 01, 2008 08:59 AM (G9/8V)

10 It's possible that I distorted the intent ever-so-slightly, for comic effect. What I say shouldn't be taken as a gospel representation, therefore, of the Cotillion's intent . . .

Posted by: Attila Girl at April 01, 2008 01:09 PM (BYH4x)

11 Well, that makes me feel better.

Posted by: Woody at April 01, 2008 02:56 PM (cq3pU)

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Oh, sorry.

Hawkins asks conservative women about getting asked out.

I dunno: it seems to me that the more people concentrate on dating as dating, the more hung up they get on rituals, and form-over-function. So the more the guy concentrates on "being a gentleman" in terms of opening doors or paying the bill, the less likely he is to be a true gentleman in the arenas wherein it counts.

Politeness is oversold. And if you can't be friends with someone, why on earth are you trying to be lovers with them, much less marry them?

UPDATE: Hackbarth weighs in, and points out that some issues simply make for interesting discussion around the dinner table, whereas others are potential deal-breakers—e.g., abortion.

When I was dating a guy who was adamantly anti-abortion—when I was less so—we made a deal that if an unplanned pregnancy occurred, I'd carry the child to term (and most likely put him or her up for adoption). The boyfriend agreed that he would be asked to help generously with the costs of prenatal care, any time off from work, etc.

That worked for us, but it may not be common that two people can work something like that out on such a loaded issue.

Via Memeorandum.

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Jon Henke is filling in for Megan McArdle; that's kind of cool.

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