Everything you probably didn’t really want to know.
One of the Israeli political parties isn’t quite clear on the concept.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
His spokeswomen are way too hot.
He doesn’t have a chance of winning.
It’s driving me crazy. Not a smoke alarm, not the computer. I can’t echo-locate it. Cant really hear it much outside the room, but very distracting within it. Any ideas?
[Update a few minutes later]
Turned out to be the UPS. Off to Frys to replace it.
[Update a while later]
Spent about $60 for 425 VA. It’s charging now, meanwhile, I’m just operating without one. Peace and quiet.
Generally, my need for them isn’t that great. My machine can survive a sudden power loss, and most of the stuff I do backs up automatically periodically. The main reason to have one these days, for me, is to keep my internet alive. The main fiber router in the garage has its own UPS, but I need to keep my wireless routers up if I want to use a laptop with power out.
What in the world were they thinking?
…may be the next viagra?
Fortunately, I currently have no need for such a thing.
He reviews the book:
So what kind of book is Fifty Shades of Grey? I would describe it, literary genre–wise, as “a porno book.” But it’s not the kind of porno men are accustomed to. When a man reads porno, he does not want to get bogged down in a bunch of unimportant details about the characters, such as who they are or what they think. A man wants to get right to the porno:
Bart Pronghammer walked into the hotel room and knitted his brow at the sight of a naked woman with breasts like regulation volleyballs.
“Let’s have sex,” she mused matter-of-factly.
A few paragraphs later they’re all done, and the male reader, having invested maybe ninety seconds of his time, can put the book down and go back to watching SportsCenter.
Apparently that is not what women want, porno-wise. What women want, to judge from Fifty Shades of Grey, is not just people doing It. Many pages go by in this book without any of It getting done, although there is a great deal of thinking and talking about It. The thoughts are provided by the narrator and main character, Anastasia Steele, who is a twenty-one-year-old American woman as well as such a clueless, self-absorbed ninny that you, the reader, find yourself wishing that you still smoked so you would have a cigarette lighter handy and thus could set fire to certain pages, especially the ones where Anastasia is telling you about her “inner goddess.” This is a hyperactive imaginary being—I keep picturing Tinker Bell—who reacts in a variety of ways to the many dramatic developments in Anastasia’s life, as we see in these actual quotes:
“My inner goddess is swaying and writhing to some primal carnal rhythm.”
“My very small inner goddess sways in a gentle victorious samba.”
“My inner goddess is doing the Dance of Seven Veils.”
“My inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves.”
“My inner goddess has stopped dancing and is staring, too, mouth open and drooling slightly.”
“My inner goddess jumps up and down, with cheerleading pom-poms, shouting ‘Yes’ at me.”
“My inner goddess is doing backflips in a routine worthy of a Russian Olympic gymnast.”
“My inner goddess pole-vaults over the fifteen-foot bar.”
“My inner goddess fist-pumps the air above her chaise longue.”
That’s right: Her inner goddess, in addition to dancing, cheerleading, pole vaulting, etc., apparently keeps furniture inside Anastasia’s head. Unfortunately, this means there is little room left for Anastasia’s brain, which, to judge from her thought process, is about the size of a walnut. On the other hand, Anastasia is physically very attractive, although she never seems to figure this out despite the fact that all the other characters keep telling her, over and over, how darned attractive she is.
Go read the rest. You know you want to.
Some quotes that probably won’t make it into movie.
I am going through an experience that I would find hilarious if it were happening to someone else. Maybe future me will laugh at it and write about it, after it’s stopped happening to current me.
OK, that’s not the exact quote, but I think I captured the idea:
Swain’s speech must be curtailed, Yamin said: “What I’m really trying to show her is that she can’t continue to say these kinds of things on a campus that’s so liberal and diverse and tolerant” or “say bigoted things about her own students.”
It reminds me of the line from Dr. Strangelove. “Gentlemen, you can’t fight in here, this is the War Room.”
The Left keeps using that word “liberal.” I don’t think it means what they think it means.
I’d come to watch the Adsheads poke at decaying stoats because they are nature lovers. So are most New Zealanders. Indeed, on a per-capita basis, New Zealand may be the most nature-loving nation on the planet. With a population of just four and a half million, the country has some four thousand conservation groups. But theirs is, to borrow E. O. Wilson’s term, a bloody, bloody biophilia. The sort of amateur naturalist who in Oregon or Oklahoma might track butterflies or band birds will, in Otorohanga, poison possums and crush the heads of hedgehogs. As the coördinator of one volunteer group put it to me, “We always say that, for us, conservation is all about killing things.”
It’s a bizarre story.
A number of commenters are wondering why I think this is bizarre. I guess it’s just because the notion of living in a place with no mammals whatsoever (other than humans) seems very weird to me. I understand that they’re not native, but I’ve lived with them all my life, and have trouble imagining their total absence. Would I even be allowed to keep a dog? Or a cat?