Crankypantsing, Photography

Happy Friday!

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Belt of Venus 15 December 2005

Yesterday morning was gross and disgusting, with the dreaded “wintry mix” of snow, rain, and sleety crap. The sky cleared up in the afternoon, though, and the rest of the day was absolutely gorgeous. I got another photo of the Belt of Venus at sunset. I think this one turned out a bit better than the last ones I took. The colors are a little more saturated and brighter, I think because the reflectivity of the remaining snow provided more light. The trees in the foreground aren’t just black blobs; they’ve got a bit of shading and definition.

I picked up a track pad, and have been playing around with it. I’m a little meh about it, but for the time being, it’s giving me a break from the mouse. It’s a little frustrating retraining my mousy hand-eye coordination to work with finger-tip motion instead of wrist motion, but adjusting to it hasn’t taken as long as I thought it would. It’s still too early for a thumbs-up or thumbs-down, though. If I decide I like it, I may see if I can get a keyboard-track pad combo for my work computer. A few folks have them, but I wanted to make sure it would be an improvement before asking for one.

I went into town to register my car[1] (finally!) and to get gas and run a few other errands. But! I got to the gas station and my damned bank card wouldn’t work. They’d sent me a replacement card, because a vendor I’d purchased something from had reported being hacked. I called the bank, and according to them the new card ought to work, but for some reason it’s not. So I guess I’m waiting for a new, new card to get here. In the meantime, I have to figure out how I’m going to get cash, which is more problematic than one might think. They’ve closed most of their branches, and the ones that are still open have some seriously wacky-assed–and totally non-work-compatible–hours. Hrmph.

So, anyway, I’ve been home most of the day, with the teevee on in the background. I haven’t been actively watching it, but there’s one ad that’s run repeatedly that’s about to get on my last nerve. It’s an animated commercial for Triaminic, a kids’ cold medicine. In it, a momma clam tries to get her child clam to take its medicine. The child refuses, and the mother whips out the “I’m going to tell your father!” threat. WTF? First, why on earth is the mother incapable of disciplining her kids on her own? Second, what an awful message to send to kids, telling them that their fathers are to be feared. It’s as if a mans main role in child-rearing is to crack the whip and keep his kids in line. That’s fucked up.

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[1] I love the folks at the local BMV[2]. I didn’t have the registration for my old car (I’d left it in the glove compartment), but they still let me recycle my old plate. The only problem was that the date sticker had peeled almost all the way off it. It was still hanging on, but there was no way I could put it on my car that way and expect it not to fall off. The woman said I’d have to go to the police to get a new sticker (and pay a $6 replacement fee). Hrmph. But, she took another look at it, and said she might be able to fix it well enough to keep the sticker on the plate. She took it into the back room, glued the hell out of it, and brought it back to me. Yay! It’s a little crinkled, but it’s intact and stuck tight to the plate.

[2] Yes, that’s right. I’ve never had a long wait, even when the place was packed. They’re quick and cheerful and so far have been quite helpful. I can totally recommend this product and/or service!1!!

Art, Crankypantsing, Meta

I’ll Take Potpourri for $200, Alex

Here’s a look at marginalia.

I have had about a million discussions about the proper care and handling of books, both from the perspective of a caretaker and an owner. A common sentiment among bibliophiles is that modifying a book in any way is an act of vandalism. Book ownership as a trusteeship; we should preserve our books for future generations, so that they might experience those books as they were originally published. I don’t buy that argument, though. A book is a living thing. The very act of reading it transforms it. From oils in your hands, which over time develop into stains, to creases along the spine, a book that has been read bears scars that testify to its life’s travels. When further transformed, by the addition of annotations, a book becomes a unique and priceless historical document. Not that my marginalia have any pretensions to such importance, but I think they are a far cry from vandalism.

One of my favorite high school teachers said that, if you hadn’t written in a book, you hadn’t truly read it. I don’t know that that’s strictly true, but being given the permission to write in text books dramatically changed the learning process for me. From that point on, I underlined, bracketed, highlighted, dog-eared, and took notes in the margins, all with great glee and abandon. Books became living things I interacted with, instead of passive things that simply existed to be read. Thank you, Mrs. Taylor, for that, and for a whole lot of other stuff. You were one of the bestest teachers EVAR.

I mention this, because it relates to my next altered book project. I still don’t have anything concrete enough to share, but it shall be forthcoming. Soon!

A Festivus for the Restivus? I used to dislike Seinfeld, but then I moved to the Land of No Cable, and discovered that when there’s nothing else on television, Seinfeld isn’t so bad. In fact, it’s occasionally damned good. There’s rarely a day that goes by that something Seinfeldian doesn’t crop up. Right now, as it’s the Solstice Season (Bill O’Reilley can kiss my fat ass), I feel like work is nothing but a revolving staff party. I hate staff parties. I don’t go to them, it makes me cranky to get the inevitable food sign-up memos, and I especially hate the twelfty gabillion e-mails counting down the commencement of the inevitable party. The worst, though, is when higher-ups go around corralling and shaming anti-social folks like me into attending. That especially pisses me off.

So, a co-worker called this morning (I’ve mentioned that I’m the only one who seems able to answer the phone?), asking me to go downstairs to meet her at the loading dock with a book truck, so that she could deliver goodies for this afternoon incarnation of The Party. I was not amused. Not amused in the least. It’s enough to make the Baby Jeebus cry. And, if that doesn’t do it, maybe this will? I mean, who wouldn’t want a menorah made out of tampons?

If you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly brimful of the Holiday Spirit, whatever the hell that is. Not even the Viggo Mortensen Advent calendar has been able to ungrinchify me.

And now for a quick game of Statstacularity. I have to wonder if the folks who get to my blog or websites via a search engine bother to read the accompanying descriptive text. Because, somehow, I don’t think they do. Otherwise, the person searching for “ejaculating penis photos” probably wouldn’t have bothered visiting. I’m just sayin’… Also, “n.u.d.e. celebrity photos.” And, what’s up with acronymization? Is it supposed to be some sort of super s33kr1t code? I’m still getting lots of hits for puggles and “winter sky,” though singly, not in combination. There’s a thought, though. Imagine a Pug x Beagle, ears outstretched, soaring majestically through the brooding winter sky.

And since I’m in the mood to pick nits (whenever am I not?), the Maya people speak Mayan. There is no -n on the end of the word when it refers to the people themselves, or when it refers to their artifacts. It’s one thing for regular folks to get it wrong, but there is just no excuse for news editors not knowing the difference. That said, this mural is pretty damned cool. What’s special about it is that it dates from ~100BCE, which is 200 years before the classic period. These may be the earliest Maya wall paintings to be discovered.

Mural paintings in San Bartolo

This portion of the mural depicts a king making a blood sacrifice by piercing his penis. The practice was common among Maya rulers, who bore responsibility for the well being of their subjects. The genitals or tongue would be pierced using either an obsidian blade or a stingray spine. Pieces of bark paper were soaked in the blood, or, in some cases, ropes made of bark paper were pulled through holes pierced through the skin. The blood-soaked paper would then be burned in an offering to the gods.

To the ancient Maya, blood sacrifice was necessary for the survival of the gods, who in turn provided the Maya with everything they needed. The gods could not exist without the Maya, and the Maya could not exist without their gods.

I’m all blogged out, but since I invoked Viggo up there somewhere, I’ll leave you on this note:

I’m not anti-Bush; I’m anti-Bush behavior. In other words, I’m against cheating, greed, cruelty, racism, imperialism, religious fundamentalism, treason, and the seemingly limitless capacity for hypocrisy shown by Bush and his administration.
— Viggo Mortensen

Art, Photography

Winter Ramblings

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After last week’s episode of Adventures in Driving, I ended up staying home all weekend for an extended snow holiday. I wish I could say I got lots of important stuff accomplished, but mostly, I slept, played with the dog, slept, read books, slept, played with the dog, and slept some more. Also, I slept. And played with the dog. Apparently, I had a lot of sleeping to catch up on, which was good, because I ended up staying up way past my bedtime last night. I had to watch the finale of Survivor, dontchaknow?

Anyway, the long weekend was a much-needed mini mental health holiday. I did finally get around to clearing the rest of the snow off the deck and car yesterday, before it could refreeze into a sheet of ice. Since I still haven’t bought a window scraper, I figured I’d better plan ahead. That was about the most constructive thing I did. Alas, it was only marginally helpful.

When I pulled in on Thursday–after unsticking myself after I slid off the road–I’d been waffling about leaving the car in 4WD. Should I or shouldn’t I? I finally decided on “should,” and was damned glad of it this morning. We’d gotten just enough sleet yesterday, then snow overnight, to make the lane close to impossible to navigate. It was that yucky almost-freezing slush that, when compacted (by, like, feet or car tires), turns to ice. So, of course, I ended up sliding sideways into the neighbors’ yard again. Did I mention that they’ve got a pond that is disturbingly close to the road? It’s not so scary when going up the lane, but coming down it, if you slide off in the right place–and, of course, I did–you feel like you’re aimed right at it. Luckily, it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. I was able to get myself out and get onto the public road without too much trouble, but even so, that’s not what I wanted to be doing at 5am.

I love cold and snow–truly I do–but (obviously!) I hate to drive in it. I also can’t stand the dreary Indiana winters. The sun finally came out today, which helped, but we’ll soon return to the endless monotony of grey, grey, grey. And more snow on Wednesday, too, likely mixed with sleet and freezing rain and all the vile crap that takes all the fun out of snowdays. Humph.

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So, about Survivor… I wasn’t really keen on any of the final contestants after Gary was voted out. It was more a matter of who I didn’t want to win (isn’t that usually the case?) As far as I was concerned, as long as Judd didn’t win, I would’ve been happy. Stephanie not winning was a bonus, though. I don’t know why, but I just didn’t like her. She was whiny and negative this time around. Or, maybe, she was always that way and I didn’t notice it previously? Either way, I wasn’t impressed with her.

Judd, though, was another matter. Talk about rude, obnoxious, petulant, mean, selfish, arrogant, and ignorant. I really can’t think of anything nice to say about him. He was a complete ass, to the point that I often had to turn the channel because I couldn’t stand the embarrassment factor. I had to laugh, though, when he had a melt-down because Stephanie had the audacity to not share information with him. Specifically, she didn’t tell him that she and the others had decided to vote him out. Can you blame her, after the shit fits he threw when others dared to cross him? Who in their right mind would want to invite one of his diatribes? Why on earth it came as a surprise to him that others–even those in his alliance–would perhaps not share all their cards with him, is a mystery to me. It happens in real life, and a competition such as Survivor is bound to intensify the behavior. No matter how well you know someone, trust them, and believe they have your best interests in mind, you simply cannot share everything with them. Aside from the fact that humans need a psychological buffer, it’s just not possible to share every waking thought with another person. Nor, if you’re trying to ultimately get an advantage over others, is it desirable.

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Speaking of things that make me go hmmm, there was a recent discussion in the Collage Museum group (I believe the archives are public) about art vs. craft. This is one of those topics that pops up regularly, and never fails to ruffle feathers and knot knickers. Why, I’ll never figure out if I live to be a gazillion. In this go-round–which produced some meaty food for thought–someone took offense at another person’s definitions of the two terms. Several others chimed in to define and explain their points of view. Then, for some mind boggling reason, someone else started tsk-tsking, and demanded that the subject be dropped, because it offended her. Yet another person also requested the subject be discontinued, because he is “very busy” and cannot be bothered to read voluminous posts covering such piddling matters. M’kaythen. Are these last two people adults, or what? If they’re busy, or offended, then stop reading. Don’t expect others to do your censoring for you. Would you walk into a party, decide you didn’t like the music, and proceed to demand that the hosts and/or guests cater to your wishes to have it changed? You could, I suppose, but I wouldn’t recommend it, as it’s in spectacularly bad taste.

I’m quite happy to report that, though my experience with Yahoo groups is that the list owner will almost always shut down a discussion if anyone starts whinypantsing, the owner of the Collage Museum group did not do so. Good for him.

Vaguest Teaser Evar, AHOY!1!! Speaking of art, I’ve got a new altered book idea. I haven’t started on it, and the concept hasn’t coalesced enough to describe, but I don’t think it’ll be long before I’m ready to begin. I’ll post more when it starts to take shape.

[The above photographs depict the Belt of Venus, taken 5 December 2005. The Belt of Venus is the strip of pinkish color sandwiched between the blue sky (above) and the darker blue shadow of the earth (below). It appears after sunset and before sunrise, along the horizon opposite the sun. The top two photos show the dark shadow more clearly, just above the horizon. In the bottom picture, it’s a faint band nestled just above the dip at the center of the ridge line. It’s nice to have periodic reminders of why I put up with crappy Indiana weather. The gorgeous landscape is a major one.]

Photography

Instant Review: Baking a Cake

It’s cold and snowy, so baking a cake seemed like the obvious thing to do. One of my favorites is cockeyed cake–the cake you make when you don’t have any cake-making ingredients in the house. No butter? No eggs? No baking powder? No milk? No problem! Bake a cockeyed cake. Which I did. Except, as I was pulling it out of the oven, I dropped the pan and the cake landed on the oven rack, upside down. What a pain in the arse. I had bits of cake everywhere. Not to be deterred, though, I whipped up another one. I will have cake, damnit!

Cockeyed Cake
1 1/2 cup flour
1 cup sugar
1/3 cup cocoa
1/4 cup cooking oil
1 tsp vanilla
1 cup water
1 tsp baking soda
1 tbls vinegar
dash of salt

Mix the dry ingredients in a bowl. Mix together the wet ingredients (I measure the water in a 2 cup Pyrex measuring cup, then add the rest of the wet ingredients to it and mix them together). Add the wet ingredients to the dry and mix thoroughly. Pour into a greased cake pan and bake at 350F for 20-30 minutes (I really don’t know how long it takes. I test for doneness by pressing the center of the cake gently with a finger, or inserting a fork into it. If the fork comes out clean, it’s done.)

It’s nice and moist, so it’s good unfrosted. Occasionally, we’d make caramelly butterscotch sauce to pour over it. That, too, is easy peasy.

Caramelly Butterscotch Sauce
1 can sweetened condensed milk (you can substitute milk, cream, or evaporated milk, for a less sweet sauce)
1 stick butter (not margarine!)
1 cup brown sugar
dash of vanilla

Chuck it all in a sauce pan and let everything melt together. Bring to boil and cook to soft ball stage. It will brown slightly, which is fine. It’s a thin line between browned and burnt, though, so be careful not to overcook it. Let it cool slightly, then pour it over the warm cake and enjoy.

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Cockeyed Cake with Caramel-Butterscotch Icing

Crankypantsing, Pets, Photography

Instant Review: Snow!

I don’t know how much snow we finally ended up with, but it’s a goodly amount. And, it’s purty. As of last night’s news, it was six inches. We had high winds overnight, so there’s likely a lot of drifting on some of the back roads. I decided to stay home today, because I didn’t even want to think about repeating yesterday’s driving experience. It was truly, truly horrible.

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A normally 35 minute drive took me over 2.5 hours. The roads had not been plowed or sanded or anything. I saw several plows travelling in the opposite lane, with blades up, but the west-bound lane hadn’t been touched. WTF? Every place where the snow was churned up made me fish-tail, so intersections were, um, interesting. It was really a horrible, horrible experience, but somehow I managed to get home without wrecking.

The funny/good/sad part was that I managed to stay on the road, but when I got home, I slid off our lane and got stuck tight in the neighbor’s yard. Haw! Much hilarity ensued. I was wearing stupid shoes and short socks, for maximum snow-up-the-legs effect. I was also dressed thoroughly inappropriately, in a t-shirt and a hoodie, with no gloves, scarf, or hat. No shovel, either. Or cat litter. So, I had to walk home to get properly dressed and get a shovel and cat litter (and to let Harriet out, which was ridiculously funny. Harriet: “Eeew! WTF is that?!). But, I got unstuck all by myself, which I’m sure, if the neighbors were watching out their windows, afforded them much high-quality entertainment. It also gave me a chance to work off all the scared-to-the-point-of-vomiting nervous energy I’d worked up driving home, so it was probably all-in-all not a bad thing.

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And then I got to hang out with Harriet and play in the snow, which was all kinds of fun. She was much put out at first, but she quickly got her snow legs and did all sorts of snow-plowing, boinging, snow-snorting, and bird chasing. It’s a whole new world when you cover it with white stuff.

I have to say that I’m pretty happy with how the Tracker handled in the snow. Yeah, I was slipping and sliding all over the place, but not as badly as many other folks. And, after I dug myself out of the neighbor’s yard, I was able to actually get up the driveway. That would *not* have been possible in the MoonPie of Delight. *love*

One thing I do not love, though, is students. As I was trying to leave campus yesterday, they were in all sorts of inadvisable, dangerous places, doing all sorts of inadvisable, dangerous things. Cars were obviously sliding everywhere, but there were students walking out right in front of them. What the hell were they thinking?! The pièce de résistance, though, was a group of students standing in the middle of the road, throwing snowballs at cars. That kind of fuck-headed asshattery ought to be criminal.

Crankypantsing, Ladybusiness, Meta, News & Politics

Non Sequiturs-a-Go-Go!

  • Why do pedestrians insist on J-walking at the slowest possible rate of speed? If you’re going to barge out into the street, in the path of on-coming traffic, the least you could do is pick up the pace a bit. That’s all I’m asking.
  • I did some minor clean-up and rearranging on the website. I had somehow missed fixing the navigation links on one page, as well as specifying a background color. I also rounded up the bad poetry I’d posted here, and placed it in the Writing section, along with a new piece, Three Things.
  • Shake-n-Bake tofu is damnfinegood. No, really! I hate the texture of tofu, so I’m normally not a fan. However, if you use extra firm tofu, slice it really thinly, coat it with Shake-n-Bake, then bake it until it’s crispy and slightly jerky-like, it’s delicious. Of course, it also isn’t exactly good for you when prepared that way, but whatever. It’s still better for you than potato chips, yes?
  • State-by-state GOP Scandal Scorecard. Indiana is fairly well represented, with “Our Man Mitch” leading the pack.
  • Walgreens has placed four of its Missouri pharmacists on leave for refusing to fill prescriptions for Plan B. (It is illegal in Missouri for pharmacies that carry birth control pills to refuse sale of Plan B.) That’s all well and good, but the drugstore chain has offered to relocate the employees to states where it’s legal to refuse to dispense certain drugs on moral grounds. So, it’s not like Walgreens is taking a stand. They’re just adhering to state law, and will likely foist their employees off on the less fortunate residents of another state.
  • A heaping dose of Christmas kitsch from Going Jesus, in the form of Angels We Have Heard Are High.
  • I’m suddenly getting a metric butt-load of hits from searches for “winter sky.” It’s interesting how things like that happen in waves.
Uncategorized

Lost and Found

I love kids’ books–especially old ones–and pick up lots of them at yard sales and thrift stores. Sometimes, there are interesting bits of ephemera tucked into the books. This was the case with a copy of Jane Abbott’s The Barberry Gate that I got from the public library’s book sale. The book itself wasn’t anything terribly special–a romantic young adult mystery from the 1920s, in a library binding–but inside it I found a 4H name tag from 1940. What was written on the back was interesting. I assume, this being 1940 and it being 4H camp, that La Vaughn is a girl, and the reference is simply to she and Anita being cabin- or bunk-mates.

4H Name Badge front
Recto: “Hello! I am Anita Strasburger. Who are you?”

4H Name Badge back
Verso: “1940 club camp at Battle Ground South Bend cottage La Vaughn & I sleep to gether”

Crankypantsing

Hey Andy…!

I thought this might amuse my brother, as he, too, is a fan of the weird and wonderful.

I’m sick to death of the ubiquitous rubber wristbands. They seemed like an okay idea at first, but now, not only is there one in every color, for every cause, but you can even buy multi-colored packages of them, which boggles the brain. It’s bad enough that they’re everydamnwhere, but at least their existence had a purpose beyond mere adornment. Why would someone want to wear such an arse-ugly piece o’ cheap crap?

And then, while perusing Teh Internets, I came across this: The Original Cthulhu Fhtagn Wristband. The Old Ones are coming, folks, so spread the word! Also, Save Cthulhu! And, lo! Cthulhu house slippers! Cthulhu hats! Cthulhu backpacks!

Can magnetic Cthulhu car ribbons be far behind?

Ladybusiness

To Clarify

It occurs to me that y’all may find a couple of things I said previously to be inconsistent. Let me explain. I think Oprah, and others who encourage cosmetic surgery, are doing their audience a disservice. I especially think that describing an untested medical procedure–one done for purely cosmetic reasons–as do-it-on-your-lunch-hour easy-peasy, is immoral. For some unfathomable reason, Oprah has a huge audience that is eager to take her every word as gospel truth, and she’s making giant buckets of money when she doles out advice. That’s an awesome power to wield, and by using it to pimp cosmetic surgery, she is abusing it. That, I think, is evil.

On the other hand, we have the consumer end of the spectrum. First, these sorts of choices–while I tend to think they are made by people who have been manipulated by folks like Oprah–are deeply personal. I think it is unfortunate that cosmetic surgery has become ubiquitous, and that in all too many cases, it is seen as something that is necessary. But, I don’t think there is anything morally wrong with having cosmetic surgery.

Second, the case I referenced yesterday involved reconstructive surgery, which is a whole ‘nother kettle of fishes. The woman who had the face transplant procedure had lost a large portion of her face when she was attacked by her dog. She had trouble talking and eating, and the surgery will, hopefully, rectify that.

In other news, I went to game night at some friends’ house. It was well worth braving sleet, freezing rain, and snow, in order to attend. I offered to drive (my neighbor went, too), and as I was preparing to leave, I thought about what had possessed me to volunteer to drive to Bloomington (a 50 mile round trip) in such craptacular weather–for the second time that day! What on earth was I thinking?! I’ve always hated driving. It makes me nervous to be piloting a hurtling box of doom and destruction. It creeps me right the hell out. But, lately I’ve been volunteering to do pretty much all the carpool driving. Am I on crack? Maybe. Mostly, though, I think it’s a matter of having developed an obsessive-compulsive, control-freakish need to be in charge of the car. I find that I really, really, really do not want to be a passenger. Driving isn’t my favorite thing to do, but it beats not driving.

Crankypantsing, News & Politics

Saturday, Chapters 1-6

Chapter 1, In Which People are Nicer in the Mornings

As I was leaving Bigfoot this morning, after having bought my morning cup o’ drugs, I held the door open for a young guy on crutches. He thanked me, and commented that people were much nicer in the mornings than later in the day. I replied that it was probably because, in the morning, people aren’t awake yet. I thought about it some more as I was driving to work, and it may be true. It also may be that, early in the morning, there have been fewer chances for someone else to ruin our day. As the day progresses, there are more and more things for us to get cranky about.

And, then, as I was driving down 17th street, pondering the life cycle of crankiness, some jerk ran across the road in front of me. I had to slam on my breaks, to keep from hitting him. Hello?! It’s pitch dark outside, Mr. Pedestrian, and you’re wearing black from head to toe. Whyever on earth did you think it would be a good idea to dash out in front of me, when the likelihood of me seeing you was disturbingly close to zero? Asstrumpet!

And that, my dear reader, is how people become cranky.

Chapter 2, In Which I Address Praising Beauty

Awhile back, I was in a discussion with someone who could not understand why I thought praising people for being beautiful was a Very Bad Thing. Sure, everyone likes to be told that they look good, and I think it’s perfectly fine to tell someone, “That’s a great outfit,” or, “I love your hair.” It’s even okay to acknowledge that someone is attractive. However, I think there’s a fine line between that and praising someone for being pretty. Praise should be reserved for things one accomplishes, and attractiveness is not–or, at least, should not be–something to be achieved. Being pretty does not make one morally superior, nor should it be a goal to strive toward. Rewarding it with praise only reinforces the harmful message that people who are attractive are somehow better than others, and that those who feel they are not attractive should go out and do something about it. And we wonder why people abuse food and plastic surgery?

Chapter 3, In Which I Win at Gas Tank Bingo

I stopped for gas on Friday morning. I almost always go to Bigfoot, which usually charges a couple of cents more than the other places in town. However, it’s on the correct side of the road and they carry my favorite fountain drink, so I think it’s worth paying a little bit more. Every once in awhile, though, their fuel prices are actually lower than Casey’s or Speedway. This was one of those occasions. And, it wasn’t just a penny or two, either–it was 12¢ cheaper! This morning, when I drove by, Speedway had gone up to $2.19 and Bigfoot was $2.09. Still cheaper, but not as cheap as yesterday’s $1.96. I win!

Chapter 4, In which Wingnuts Advocate Physical Violence Against Liberals

Bill O’Reilly had Ann Coulter as a guest on his ridiculous talk show. They discussed the eeevilness of Lefty-Pinkos, and why they’re big-mouthed Nazis who should be beaten with baseball bats. WTF?!

O’REILLY: All right. Be careful, Ann. They’re bad people.
COULTER: Thank you.
O’REILLY: They are bad people.
COULTER: They are bad people
O’REILLY: And that’s not an ideological statement. They are bad human beings, doing what they’re doing.

Apparently, liberals are bad, bad, very bad, people who do bad, bad, very bad things. Who knew?! I had no idea that there was something inherently wrong with liberals.

COULTER: I think a baseball bat is the most effective way these days.

As everyone knows, bad, bad, very bad people who do bad, bad, very bad things need to be stopped. At any cost, apparently. Beating the crap out of those who dare to disagree seems to be an acceptable solution. Why wast time talking, when you can resort to physical violence?

COULTER: No, of course not. They’re Nazi block watchers. This is what they’re good at.
O’REILLY: They’re Nazi what?
COULTER: Block watchers, you know. They tattle on their parents, turn them in to the Nazis. They’re little Nazi block watchers.
O’REILLY: See, this is why they don’t want you on CNN there. You’re calling them Nazis. They don’t —

In this staggering bit of irony, Coulter claims that liberals who voice dissent are Nazis (and, don’t forget, that they should be beaten with baseball bats). Funny that, as I seem to recall that it’s fascists, like the Nazis, who commonly resort to physical violence against dissenters.

O’REILLY: Yeah, but on a policy basis, what they’re trying to do on these far-left smear sites is intimidate people with whom they disagree, and then choke off their ability to get their message out. I mean, freedom of speech means nothing to these people. They really want to just bludgeon anybody with whom they disagree, or am I wrong?

Liberals are on a mission to curtail–sorry, bludgeon–free speech? I’m sorry, but how, exactly, has O’Reilly–or any other wingnut mouthpiece, for that matter–been stifled by Lefty-Pinkos? Where does he get this crap?

O’REILLY: OK, but to answer your question, CNN is perceived to be a left-wing outlet, and they don’t like your voice on the left-wing outlet. But, you know, aren’t liberals or far-left people supposed to be champions of freedom of speech? Isn’t that what the ACLU [American Civil Liberties Union] is all about?

My ass! Or O’Reilly’s complete and utter misunderstanding of the concept of censorship. What O’Reilly fails to understand is that a corporation, like CNN, is incapable of censorship. CNN cannot stop O’Reilly or Coulter or anyone else from spewing their bullshit. All CNN can do is refuse to let them do it on their network. If the government or some other institution tried to silence O’Reilly or Coulter, that’d be another matter. That would be censorship. No one is trying to stifle them, though. They’re just being told to peddle their hatemongering elsewhere, which is perfectly reasonable.

I mean, seriously, the fact that O’Reilly and Coulter are on TV, saying what they’re saying, is proof positive that there is no liberal plot to silence wingnut dissent.

Chapter 5, In Which I Complain About Daylight Savings Time

For the last umpty years, Indiana–which is split between two time zones–has eschewed Daylight Saving Time. Most of the state is in the eastern time zone. Included are the counties near Cincinnati OH and Louisville KY, which in the past illegally and unofficially observe DST, in order to keep in synch with the large cities nearby. The extreme northwest and southwest portions of the state are in the central time zone, and legally and officially follow DST. This is all very confusing, but it could be worse. In 1961, the state was split down the middle. In 1967, that bit of legislative stupidity was rectified, moving most of the state to the eastern standard time zone.

Last spring, our governor, Mitch Daniels, pushed for a vote on DST, and it passed. April 2006 will see the reinstatement of DST in Indiana. That’s all well and good (no, not really), but it now appears that up to 17 counties could end up in the central time zone, with the rest of the state observing eastern time. The line has to be drawn somewhere, and, with the possible exception of the counties neighboring the Chicago area, it seems to me that it makes sense to draw it at the state border.

Chapter 6, In Which I Consider Face Transplants

I’m sure that by now, y’all have heard about the French woman who had a face transplant. She’s now awake, and able to talk and eat. I don’t really have any strong opinions on the relative okay-ness of the surgery itself, aside from feeling deep sympathy for the patient. What I do wonder about, though, is the contingency plan, should her body reject the donor tissue. Because, you know, it does happen. The woman is scheduled to have a bone marrow transplant, using the face donor’s marrow, in the hopes that it will reduce the risk of rejection. But, that’s no guarantee, and as far as I can tell, she’ll still have to be on anti-rejection drugs–which are carcinogenic–for the rest of her life.