Jesus fucking christ.
Unions screwed, women screwed out of protected screwing.
Primates: I use non-H. sapiens primates—our cousins—on my computer display.
My current wallpaper is of two bug-eyed lemurs; the one before, of a Japanese snow monkey examining its paw while steaming in a pond.
This one is examining something else:
Bet she knows more about operating that smartphone than I do.
I look forward to SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES John Boehner filing a lawsuit against President Obama for, uh, presidenting.
After all, what other options does the SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES have in dealing with a president?
Sure, it’s possible that some incompetent bastard who slid thru the confirmation process might allow the suit to go forward, but it is far more likely that the judge, after s/he stops laughing, would gavel down the suit and yell at the SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES to get out of her/his courtroom, quit wasting everyone’s time, go back to Congress and do his job.
Hell, I’d pay five bucks for a seat in the courtroom to see that happen.
I am admittedly ambivalent on the prospects of Hillary Clinton running for president.
I’d dearly love to see a woman president, but if I thought Russ Feingold had half a chance in Hades of becoming prez, I’d vote for him in a New York minute.
She’s just too. . . conservative for me to get hepped up about her.
(That said, if she’s the nominee, you can be damned sure I’ll vote for her over Ted Cruz or Rick Perry or Scott Walker: “voting while sighing” is preferable to “smashing an icepick thru my eye socket”.)
In any case, she’s received a fair amount of (mostly negative) press on her tetchiness with Terry Gross, and, honestly, her inability to give a decent answer to mildly skeptical questions about her “evolution” on gay marriage is ridiculous. She changed her mind, it’s clear she changed her mind, and yet this woman who had adopted a wonderfully FuckIt attitude while Secretary of State somehow froze up when confronted with that known aggressor Gross.
Not that it’ll matter. She might get some grief about it in the primary, but chances are her opponents will also have “evolved” on the issue and will be unwilling to press her too hard. If she makes it to the general, it won’t matter at all: many Americans who today favor same-sex marriage probably had the same views about the issue in the 1990s as Clinton did, and thus won’t hold her changing views against her.
Hell, they might even feel reassured by her vagueness about exactly when and why her views changed, not least because the course of their own change is similarly vague.
Those of who pay attention to politics often want some kind of consistency or thru-line in their candidates and politicians; we want, in some weird kind of way, for them to be better than us—or, vainly, for them to be good enough to deserve our support.
But we’re not normal—most people don’t pay attention to politics—and it’s not at all clear that the characteristics we prize or deplore in politicians matters much to the folks who don’t tune in to the race before that last Labor Day before the election.
And for better and for worse, they’re the ones who’ll have the final say on who the next president is.
It is a good thing that I don’t own a television.
Because I would have thrown a whisky bottle thru the screen had I witnessed even one of the incompetent bastards who pom-pommed us in the clusterfuck otherwise known as Operation Iraqi Freedom opine on the necessity of US military intervention in the chaos which is a direct result of the clusterfuck known as Operation Iraqi Freedom.
We owe the Iraqis, we do. We stomped into and all over their country, and while we may have liberated them from the misery of Saddam Hussein’s reign, it was only into another kind of misery. And now the psychopaths operating under the unfortunately-cool acronym of ISIS are marauding thru the country offering their own particularly murderous version of misery.
But I don’t know that there’s much we can do to make the situation better, and f we can’t make it better, we can at least have the decency not to make it worse.
Not that decency is a quality much prized amongst the clusterfuckers.
All professors hate grading.
Okay, I know, I shouldn’t presume to speak for all professors everywhere, especially since I’m just a punk adjunct and lack the tenure Real Professors™ have, but on this issue, I’m pretty confident that I speak for every professor everywhere ever.*
(*Except for the sadists who see grading as an opportunity to inflict pain, and those who think grading provides an excellent opportunity for students to lea—no, wait, the latter are graduate students and ABDs who’ve yet to have their pedagogy snapped into reality.)
Anyway. I hate grading, and while I try very hard to grade in a thoughtful and conscientious manner, with every paper I pick up I have to fight the impulse to rush through and offer some bullshit “whatever” comment before dashing off the only thing most students care about: the grade.
Except, this summer, this session, I might actually enjoy reading my students’ papers.
Well, maybe “enjoy” is too strong of a word, but it’s possible that it won’t entirely suck.
I’m teaching a course I’ve taught once before—women and politics—but instead of having them write papers anchored in the required readings as I did the last time out, this time they’re writing one short and two longer papers on, yep, a woman in politics.
The first paper is a short bio, pretty much straight-up description. The second paper focuses on the movement or party in which the woman worked, and the third, an analysis of her role in that movement and her/its impact on society.
Yes, it helps that this is a very small class, but this is a Murderer’s Row lineup.
Well done, students. Well done.
I know we’re supposed to love our bodies, accept our imperfections, and work on being fit rather than on being thin.
Nothing like staring at oneself in a mirror under overhead fluorescent lights in a dressing room at an Old Navy to make an old broad want to give up eating.
Enough fucking around.
That was how I began an editorial advocating for the release of hostages held in Lebanon. A year or so later the arms-for-hostages story—otherwise known as the Iran-Contra affair—broke.
I claim no responsibility for the colossal fuck-up that was the Reagan administration’s attempts to free those hostages—for some reason, I doubt anyone in DC was paying attention to a 20-year-old editorialist for the leftist Daily Cardinal—and I was as righteous in my denunciation of that colossal fuck-up as any righteous leftist editorialist.
However. I am responsible for my words and advocacy. I don’t remember exactly what I wrote, but I was pretty clearly in favor of robust action to get those hostages home.
And I was wrong wrong wrong.
Not wrong in wanting these men released, but wrong in thinking that no one in Washington was paying attention, that it was a simple matter, and that their release mattered more than anything else.
Wrong wrong wrong.
So, no, I have no opinion about the release of Sgt. Bowe Berghahl. I am glad, for he and his family, that he is home, and am not opposed in principle to notion of prisoner swaps—but beyond that, I got nothin’.