God, how I hate me. — Though on the plus side, these Zanella linen trousers make my fabulous ass look even more fabulous! — if such a thing is possible…*
August 7, 2007
Confessions of a self-loathing narcissist (from the protein wisdom conceptual series)
Surge reserve
Realism. Which is like nuance, only without the defeatism, and all the wine socials.
The semiotics of Beauchamp, cont,: Cathy Young Responds [UPDATED: TNR QUESTIONS BEAUCHAMP’S RECANTATION, DEMANDS APOLOGY FOR SMEAR; WS RESPONDS]
…to my post yesterday questioning her analysis of the Beauchamp saga. In her first post, remember, Young took the position that, by attributing to Foer and Beauchamp a certain intent, some right wing bloggers were betraying a kind of ludicrous paranoia (an argument echoed by Ross Douthat at the Atlantic blog). To which I responded that Young infantilizes Beauchamp as a writer, and provides Foer with intellectual cover for what
The March of the Nannystate (or, “we are intolerant of intolerance, and we aren’t afraid to show our displeasure by way of banning that intolerance in the name of tolerance”)
The head, it spins. From the New York Times: The New York City Council, which drew national headlines when it passed a symbolic citywide ban earlier this year on the use of the so-called n-word, has turned its linguistic (and legislative) lance toward a different slur: bitch. The term is hateful and deeply sexist, said Councilwoman Darlene Mealy of Brooklyn, who has introduced a measure against the word, saying it
“Propaganda Redux”
“Take it from this old KGB hand: The left is abetting America’s enemies with its intemperate attacks on President Bush.” Ion Mihai Pacepa, WSJ Opinion Journal: Sowing the seeds of anti-Americanism by discrediting the American president was one of the main tasks of the Soviet-bloc intelligence community during the years I worked at its top levels. This same strategy is at work today, but it is regarded as bad manners
The (un-)300
So long as we’re going on about the importance of correcting the record, let’s just say were these “300” charged with fighting the Persian hordes at Thermopylae, Frank Miller wouldn’t have had much to work with. Unless he thought he could produce an interesting graphic novel about Xerxes strolling casually through Hell’s Gate in search of really bitchin’ gyro sandwich. Which he probably could. But that’s not really the point,
