In a comment to this post from The Countess today noting the recent dustup between my response¹ to Feministe’s post on “hijabing” as a potentially empowering feminist performative, and Lauren’s, uh, spirited reply to that response (the substantive parts of which I answered here), Alon Levy observes that I deploy what he calls the “spurious” distinction between “equity feminism” and “gender feminism”—a remark that solicits this explanation from The Countess,

Sure, it isn’t the most glamorous kitchen improvement.  But one thing is certain:  chicks dig gargage disposals! So let’s get to it. First though, take note:  because disposals vary in size and bowl depth, be sure to check the dimensions and match them to the space under your sink. Also, because installing a disposal requires both plumbing and electrical skills, the project is best suited to experienced do-it-yourselfers. To simplify

Let me take a moment to note the passing of two extraordinarily influential Americans, both of whom passed away yesterday: 

me: “So.  You maybe wanna cuddle together on the couch tomorrow and watch some football?  Me and you, some wine, some cheese, a summer sausage…” new rimless glasses: “Actually?  I kinda already have plans.  But how ‘bout I call you later this week?”

I disagree with many of the conclusions Brendan O’Neill draws in his Reason piece, “Is Our Empathy Killing Us?”, but his premise is quite interesting, especially insofar as it addresses a few points I’ve been thinking on recently:

From “Panic in Iraq,” Norman Podhoretz, Commentary, Jan 2006: Like, I am sure, many other believers in what this country has been trying to do in the Middle East and particularly in Iraq, I have found my thoughts returning in the past year to something that Tom Paine, writing at an especially dark moment of the American Revolution, said about such times. They are, he memorably wrote, “the times that

me: “I don’t want to freak you out or anything, and I realize this all happening very quickly—but I really do think I’m falling in –” new rimless glasses: “– Shhhhhhh.  Let’s don’t, okay?  Just relax.  Enjoy the moment.”

—Yeah, yeah, I know.  But cut the little fella some slack, would you?  In addition to spending last night keeping me company in the ER, the poor bastard’s got a few troubles of his own, having borrowed $6300 from the local Wop loanshark to buy his way into a high-stakes poker game, where he lost everything when some preternaturally lucky dead-toothed Brit—drunk on Thomas Hardy Ale and farting like a