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Women & Commitment & Compromise [by Melissa]

Is political compromise possible if 50% of adult Americans can’t compromise in relationships? Will we disintegrate into a splintered nation of conflicting interests with no common purpose or are we already there? Sam Roberts of the New York Times reports: In 2005, 51 percent of women said they were living without a spouse, up from 35 percent in 1950 and 49 percent in 2000. Several factors are driving the statistical

Tancredo announces bid for Presidency; Taco Bell to rename franchise “The Cornmeal-wrapped Beef Shack”

Video of the former here.  In (potentially) related news, the watermelon I just picked up at Safeway cost me $43.99—though to be fair, it was a seedless, and it was well in excess of 6 lbs.  So, you know, there’s no use getting too alarmist, I suppose…

A Random Conversation with, uh… [McGehee]

Me: “Well, I haven’t actually done much with this guest-blogging thing.” Protein Wisdom: “Who are you again?” Me: “Yeah, that’s what I mean. The comment engine knows me, though. It tries to hide when it sees me coming.” Protein Wisdom: “No, seriously. Who the hell are you?” Me: “I like that you play it for humor. Pretending not to recognize me.” Protein Wisdom: “Dude, I’m not joking. I can tell

Fifty-third in a series of real-time empirical observations (UPDATE)

In the time it takes you to read this post, Congressional alien Denis Kucinich, in what he will eventually argue is simply a commonsense appendix to his attempt to rehabilitate the Fairness Doctrine, will use his position on a House government-reform subcommittee to introduce legislation promising to make turning down his invites to Star Trek conventions “an offense against the integrity of Starfleet Command”—a misdemeanor punishable by having to agree

Campos Heap

Evidently, “if chutzpah was a crime,” Glenn Reynolds, Tom Friedman, and Bill Kristol would be serving life sentences—ostensibly for slandering true patriots like University of Colorado Law professor Paul Campos (and those like him) who have for years now been endeavoring to convince us that our efforts in Iraq were bound to fail, and who, as a reward for their willingness to speak Truth to Power, have been subjected to

Veterinary Bleg [Dan Collins]

My Yellow-faced Pocket Gopher seems to be suffering from some kind of oral infection marked by a crusty discharge and pain in the throat and gums.  How do you suppose I ought to treat this?  Is it true that it’s transmitted by fucking barn owls? Perhaps the healing power of whale music might help.  Scott Burgess has the details from The Guardian, champion of global warming scientists. Mark Philip Alger

Establishing the Official MSM Narrative [Dan Collins]

On the way to work this morning, NPR was yammering about jury selection for the Scooter Libby trial, and asserted that Wilson’s report on Niger concluded that Saddam had not attempted to obtain uranium.  Untrue, but it makes for a more elegant plot-line.  Strangely, they aver that as so often “it’s not the crime, but the cover-up,” even as they lie about Wilson’s lies. In July 2003, columnist Robert Novak

a haiku that, for no reason whatsoever, imagines FDR as a Yellow-faced Pocket Gopher (Cratogeomys castanops)

“We have nothing to fear but fear itself.  Well, that, and fucking barn owls…”

Sexist Essentialist Fascist Thugs [Dan Collins]

A New York hospital is taking steps to offer the nation’s first uterus transplant, a radical experiment that might allow women whose wombs were removed or are defective to bear children. I would never have an abortion, but I think I ought to have the option. Neander-Curious WMC, 40s, would like to meet Neanderthal M, BiF, or couple for drinks, maybe more.  Must be clean, drug free, bipedal.  Confidentiality assured. 

John Bolton’s straight-talking mustache, “Regis,” offers some thoughts to the Times of London’s Sarah Baxter on NATO, the UN, and America’s place in the global community

“Regis”:  “What’s to say, honey?  We’re a hyperpower.  Which, if you spent less time ankle biting and more time dolling yourself up and showing just a bit more of that creamy Brit thigh, you’d be so busy swigging pricey scotch at Sinatra-drenched swinger’s parties you wouldn’t have time to worry about asking me such silly, leading questions.* “I mean, remember the Pigeon sisters?  Now those were a couple of Limey