This. Is. Where. I. Get off the bus.

God bless you all, but we went after the media pretty hard for messing with a minor in the case of Sarah Palin's 17-year-old daughter. If this kid is, indeed, 15 years old and troubled, I think he should be prosecuted. But I'm taking the spotlight off of him, and anyone with basic morals should do the same.

And, yes: his mental illness and his age should be taken into account when it's time for sentencing, which must be lenient.

And, yes: what was Sarah thinking? Yahoo? Wasilla High? For a Vice-Presidential candidate? The kid committed a felony, and he stepped over a big line. But Palin should have circled her wagons better than that. (I hope she did, and that she hasn't been actively using the Yahoo account; it could be that this is simply an old account she hadn't had time to delete. We know that there wasn't anything "juicy" on it, so it might be that she just ran out of time.)

UPDATE: Okay. Make that a 20-year-old, mentally unstable chess fanatic. I've been there myself, except for the chess. And the felony.

But, really—can we get away from the "lynch mob" mentality, here?

Posted by: Attila Girl at 02:44 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 213 words, total size 1 kb.

. . . by not allowing myself to develop iPhone lust. That, plus poverty, have prevented me from getting an iPhone.

Of course, late last-possible minute adopters like me benefit directly from the struggles of the early adopters.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 02:41 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 46 words, total size 1 kb.

Via Mikal, who says it's uncanny in its accuracy:

Pay an escort of your affectional preference subset to not
bathe for five days, cover themselves in glitter, dust, and
sunscreen, wear a skanky neon wig, dance close naked,
then say they have a lover back home at the end of the night.

Tear down your house. Put it in a truck.
Drive 10 hours in any direction. Put the house back together.

Invite everyone you meet to come over and party.
When they leave, follow them back to their homes,
drink all their booze, and break things.

Stack all your fans in one corner of the living room.
Put on your most fabulous outfit.
Turn the fans on full blast.
Dump a vacuum cleaner bag in front of them.

Buy a new set of expensive camping gear.
Break it.

Lean back in a chair until that point where youÂ’re just
about to fall over, but you catch yourself at the last
moment. Hold that position for 9 hours.

Only use the toilet in a house that is at least 3 blocks away.
Drain all the water from the toilet.
Only flush it every 3 days.
Hide all the toilet paper.

Set your house thermostat so it's 50 degrees for the first
hour of sleep and 100 degrees the rest of the night.

Cut, burn, electrocute, bruise, and sunburn various
parts of your body. Forget how you did it.
Don't go to a doctor.

"Downsize" last year's camp by adding two geodesic domes,
a new sound system, art car, and 20 newbies.

Don't sleep for 5 days.
Take a wide variety of hallucinogenic/emotion altering drugs.
Pick a fight with your boyfriend/girlfriend.

Spend a whole year rummaging through thrift stores
for the perfect, most outrageous costume.
Forget to pack it.

Shop at Wal-mart, Cost-Co, and Home Depot until your car
is completely packed with stuff.
Tell everyone that you're going to a "Leave-No-Trace" event.
Empty your car into a dumpster.

Read "Dhalgren" by Samuel R. Delany.
Read "The City Not Long After" by Pat Murphy.
Cut off the bindings, throw all the pages up in the air,
and shuffle them back together.
Reread "The City After Dhalgren" by Samuel Murphy.
Burn it. Read the ashes.
Listen to music you hate for 168 hours straight, or until
you think you are going to scream. Scream.
Realize youÂ’ll love the music for the rest of your life.

Spend 5 months planning a "theme camp" like itÂ’s the invasion of Normandy.
Spend Monday-Wednesday building the camp.
Spend Thurs-Sunday nowhere near camp because you're sick of it.

Walk around your neighborhood and knock on doors until
someone offers you cocktails and dinner.

Bust your ass for a "community."
See all the attention get focused on the drama queen crybaby.

Get so drunk you can't recognize your own house.
Walk slowly around the block for 5 hours.

Tell your boss you aren't coming to work this week but
he should "gift" you a paycheck anyway.
When he refuses accuse him of not loving the "community".

Search alleys untill you find a couch so unbelievably tacky and
nasty filthy that a state college frat house wouldn't want it.
Take a nap on the couch and sleep like you are king of the world.

Ask your most annoying neighbor to interrupt your fun several
times a day with third hand gossip about every horrible thing that's
happened in the last 24 hours. Have them wear khaki.

Go to a museum.
Find one of Salvador DaliÂ’s more disturbing but beautiful paintings. Climb inside it.

Before eating any food, drop it in a sandbox and lick a battery.

Mail $200 to the Reno casino of your choice.

Spend thousands of dollars and several months of your life
building a deeply personal art work.
Hide it in a funhouse on the edge of the city.
Hire people to come by and alternate saying "I love it" and "this sucks balls".
Blow it up.

Set up a DJ system downwind of a three alarm fire.
Play a short loop of drum'n'bass until the embers are cold.

Make a list of all the things you'll do different next year.
Never look at it.

Have a 3 a.m.soul baring conversation with a drag nun
in platforms, a crocodile, and Bugs Bunny.
Be unable to tell if you're hallucinating. Lust after Bugs Bunny.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 02:27 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 735 words, total size 4 kb.