The Lasso of Truth

What geeks do for fun

They make up lists of things you never knew you needed to know and probably wished you didn't...

10 Worst Evolutionary Designs:

#2...

Hyena clitoris. When engorged, this "pseudopenis," which doubles as the birth canal, becomes so hard it can crush babies to death during exit.

#8...

Slug genitalia. Some hermaphroditic species breed by wrapping their sex organs around each other. If one of said members gets stuck, the slug simply chews it off. What. The. Hell?

Public Service message of the day

Girls, listen carefully.  Boys, tell your wives/girlfriends...

The intrauterine device is a small—roughly 1 inch—plastic "T" inserted into the uterus that hampers the interaction and implantation of the sperm and egg. It has to be placed by a gynecologist, but once in, it's a practically foolproof method of birth control—99 percent effective—that can last up to 10 years. While daily or monthly forms of birth control can cost up to $60 a month, an IUD is a one-time cost between $300 and $500—though it's often covered by insurance. There's nothing to remember to take (unlike the pill), put in (unlike the NuvaRing), or take off (unlike the patch). And while efficacy studies suggest that the pill, patch, or ring are 99 percent effective in a clinical setting, real-life compliancy—like forgetting to take the pill at the same time every day—reduces its success rate. All that is a nonissue for the IUD: Once in, it requires no maintenance for the length of the device. Perhaps best of all, it can be hormone-free, which is better for the environment and ideal for women prone to some of the negative effects of hormonal birth control, like weight gain, mood swings, acne, or high blood pressure.

I had terrible experiences with the pill.  Frequently, I would have to go to the hospital for debilitating cramp pain and profuse bleeding.  And that was just during the 2 week period when I would get my monthly visitor.  The rest of the time, I had acne and ugly mood swings.

For these reasons, it should be no mystery that I was anxious to embrace any alternate option for birth control after the birth of my first child, and after each child that followed until the magic vasectomy made such measures unnecessary.

I was lucky that my mother had used an IUD for many years and never had any trouble.  If not for her advice and encouragement, I probably would have been scared off by the horror stories about toxic shock and IUD-embedded babies, that stigmatized the option.

After the birth of my second child a friend of mine, who had also just had a baby, ignored my advice about this trouble-free method that would not interfere with breast-feeding, and within 3 months, found herself pregnant again.

For a solution that you don't have to remember or carry with you, doesn't carry a risk of microscopic holes, and won't mess with your hormone levels, you couldn't ask for a safer and more hassle-free choice.  It doesn't protect you from disease but if you're participating in activities where you have to worry about this, your biggest problem is not the risk of pregnancy.

Between 2 rounds with an IUD and silicone breast implants, I am single-handedly tearing holes through the fearmongering of 1970's feminism.

h/t

Ain't nothing like a good neighbour

Think that's bad?  You should see what they're doing to your state and country...

John Bailey thought it was great when his neighbor was elected to the House of Representatives in 2007.

"Not everyone lives next door to a congresswoman," he said.

But two years later, he doesn't feel so lucky. The congresswoman's house is abandoned and in disrepair, "a blight on the neighborhood," Bailey said.

He thinks the way that Rep. Laura Richardson (D-Long Beach) has treated her Sacramento home tells far more about her than her voting record. [..]

Things got so bad that in the fall of 2008 rats began breeding in Richardson's backyard and soon moved into L. Kraft's house next door. It took him two months to get rid of them.

Richardson's house, he said, "has become such a hideous place."

The congresswoman has gained a degree of infamy in the Sacramento neighborhood. The two-story house, gray with red trim, is badly in need of paint. The front lawn is a patchwork of grass and weeds with brown splotches of dirt. Much of the once lush ivy covering the chain-link fence has died.

The red wooden gate sprawls on the lawn, unless someone props it up. A toilet sits on the back patio. [..]

Richardson bought the house in early 2007 for $535,000. She already owned two other houses that she had defaulted on six times.

The house went into foreclosure last year and was sold to real estate investor James York for $388,000 in May. Washington Mutual took back the house and returned it to Richardson. York sued. The case was settled privately.

 

Time to cut out the rot

Mark Steyn made me think about my son’s leg, today.  Worse yet, he made me think about my son’s leg and feel a little silly, almost ashamed at the lack of good sense I displayed just the other day, regarding what turned out to be a minor infection.

Two nights ago, as I was getting kids ready for bed my younger son came to me with a complaint about what appeared, at first blush, to be a bug bite on his leg.  As I was preparing to administer Calamine lotion and ferry him off to bed I noticed it wasn’t a bite at all, but was actually a very small scrape that had become very badly inflamed with infection. I once had a very bad infection in my hand and remember the flaming red line inching it’s way up my arm and the remark from the nurse that I was very lucky I came when I did, to get it lanced.  Looking at my son’s leg, I worried that the actual wound was far too small to offer an effective opening to let the infection out and I was unprepared to attempt lancing it myself.  I was also very conscious of the fact that if we left it be for the night and it turned out to be significantly worse by morning, Mikey would have to cart him and 5 other kids into the emergency room himself, at prime time.  Not a fate I would subject my worst enemy to.

So, off to the emergency room we went, at 10:00 that night.  The logic was sound (in a masticated socialized Canadiana kind of way) – The Georgetown hospital, so late on a Monday night, would likely not be busy and my paranoid mommy instincts would be assuaged under the capable scalpel of the on-call doctor.

It was not to be.  Upon arrival, I saw the line for triage in the waiting room was a half dozen souls deep and the chairs densely populated.  I imagined myself, along with my very tired 10-year-old and his older brother (who insisted on tagging along) still sucking up space in the waiting room at 3am, and me having to return to work the next day.

Ok Goober (that’s his nickname – ya, I know)…back to the car and a 20 minute drive to Brampton Civic, to see if we might fare a little better.

What foolishness.  Of course it was packed, too.

I was suddenly left with the dilemma of having to choose between an excruciating wait for a treatment that I wasn’t even sure was an emergency, or taking the chance with treating it myself and hoping for the best.

So, I made a stop at the drug store for bandages and antiseptic cream, and returned home with a profound sense of futility at the waste of time and parking fees spent trying to get my son treatment.

Now I feel stupid.  And worse yet, I feel stupid for some very good reasons.

I have always expounded on the virtues of self-reliance and castigated those who answer the clarion call to consign their fate to big nanny.  Yet here I was, wringing my hands over how to treat a simple infection that, after 2 days of soaking and careful ministrations, has cleared up quite nicely – without carrying the hefty price tag of an emergency room visit.

But how easily I was sucked in.  How quickly my instincts led me to assume the best course of action was to drag my boy out into the middle of the night, and spend hours languishing in a room full of sick strangers.

Mark Steyn says that socialized medicine "alters the relationship between the citizen and the state" and he's absolutely right.  And me -- the neocon hardass that I have always prided myself on being -- I am solid proof of how easily that alteration is affected.  I looked at this festering wound and doubted that I had the ability to handle it effectively.  I chickend out at first, because I thought a trip to emergency would be easier than trying to figure out how to clean it out and clear it up.

Stupid.  And lazy.

That is what socialized medicine makes you.

When I first looked at my son's leg, I was remembering an episode of Little House on the Prairie, where the mother, Caroline, got an infection on her leg that nearly killed her.  In the desperate blur of fevered infection, she heated up a kitchen knife and cut out the infected tissue until she collapsed and nearly died.  It was only tv, I know, but I was afraid of the truth behind the drama -- that it really could get that bad.  I was anxious to spare my little boy from similar suffering.

What I should have been remembering from this long lost piece of sentimental theatre, instead of the fear and suffering, was the self-reliance and strength of survival instinct that led this woman alone to take such a drastic measure to save her own life.

But nanny rocks the cradle so gently, the sleep creeps up on you so slowly, it takes a cold glass of Steyn to the face, to bring a simple soul like me to my senses.

I will have to be more diligent.  So should you.

More than one way to skin a seal

My family has been indigenous to Canada, going on at least 6 or 7 generations.

What I really need is a dark tan and a drinking habit.  Maybe then, I would qualify for "tolerance".

Where the radicals are the establishment

And another Canadian University gets crossed off the list of prospects for my eldest son's upcoming law studies...

An Ottawa university professor accused in the deadly terrorist bombing of a French synagogue nearly 30 years ago is expected to resume teaching at Carleton University this week.

Hassan Diab, who is accused of murdering four people in the 1980 bombing, will begin teaching a part-time introductory sociology course at Carleton two days a week between now and the middle of August.

...sounds like the perfect candidate to teach a sociology course.

Meanwhile, regular folks are often still confused and surprised to find that once-vaunted learning institutions like Carleton University and Osgoode Hall are turning out semi-literate retards and crackpots.

Let them wonder no longer.

***Light of day UPDATE:  And the cockroaches have scurried into the corners...

in a terse statement released yesterday afternoon, the university said that a full-time faculty member "will immediately replace the current instructor, Hassan Diab."

The move was being made to provide students "with a stable, productive academic environment that is conducive to learning," the statement said.

All this and brains too

Good news for my children...

A woman's eye-popping hourglass figure offers drooling men more than just an irresistible image. Shapely hips and thighs hold essential nutrients that nurse brains and could produce smart kids too [..]

The explanation lies in omega-3 fatty acids, which are tucked in the hips and thighs and also compose much of the human brain. Girls begin storing these fatty acids below the waist once puberty hits. The body hoards the biological building blocks in anticipation of a woman's third trimester of pregnancy, when the fetal brain is in its most rapid stages of development.

Like that Star Trek episode where a society without food mimes the motions of eating, to survive

I should really take the summer off.  Between kids home on holiday, a new garden to expand and now last-minute wedding details, there simply isn't enough time in the day to keep abreast of what goes on in the world around me.

Of course, that is also when all the really interesting stuff goes on, so as for taking the summer off -- fat chance!

I did have an interesting weekend though.  Not the least of which is because I had a truly enlightening experience, completely unexpectedly, on what was supposed to be a routine trip to the grocery store.

I know what you're thinking...how interesting could that be?  Well let me tell you, it was something along the lines of that moment when Neo woke up from the machine-induced delusion and realized that the world really was a sickeningly depressing, soul-crushing place of madness -- your worst nightmare in true-to-life technicolour.

Just like that.  But worse.

It started with a little league game in Oakville, a trendy little yuppie-burg outside of Toronto -- just like the obnoxious eco-chic neighbourhoods of Toronto, but with bigger yards and bigger cars.

That's not the nightmare part...or at least the little league game wasn't.  That was awesome!  I only mention it because that is why we were where we were, in the heart of pretentious madness-ville, where we were forced by time constraints and urgent need, to make the choice we did.

We were hosting guests for dinner that evening and were in need of some last minute supplies, to fulfill my menu plans.  We also had an important appointment that could not be rescheduled and a mad dash to make afterward, to get home in time to start dinner and be ready when our guests arrived.  So, the miniscule grocery list needed to be filled at the closest, most convenient location between the little league game and our appointment, with less than an hour to do so.

Now, down the street from the field was a Whole Foods Market.  I have never been in one before -- they have only just begun to sprout up in the trendier enclaves where people treat the word "organic" as if it is a religious requirement for the sacrament of supper.  I have generally avoided this grocery chain, mostly due to it's reputation for being very expensive and the everyday challenge I already face, meeting the grocery needs of 8 people on a restricted budget.

Mikey and I skeptically eyed the Whole Foods and decided between us that the 6 or 7 items we needed would surely not bankrupt us and that the convenience of the location would more than make up for the eco-tax charged at the till.

It's not very often we are both so wrong about something so fundamental but inflated prices, it would seem, are not the only -- or even the best -- reason to avoid the Whole Foods like it were an Ebola-plagued African.

So very wrong indeed.

To those of you who are familiar with what I am about to tell you, and are in remission from the experience, I apologize for any emotional harm caused by forcing you to relive it.  The harshest form of post-traumatic stress disorder can't begin to touch the searing mental flagellation of stepping through the automated doors of this Bedlam.

Firstly, the small line of shopping carts, conveniently located just inside the door, is deceptive.  Although it appears to be smaller than an average shopping cart, the aisles you are meant to navigate through are so narrow and oddly angled, that pushing one from one end to the other requires not just a skill of precision unknown outside of a laparoscopic surgery theatre, but also the absence of any other shoppers or, for that matter, oxygen.  Not since my first pair of PVC pants, have I been forced to squeeze so tightly.  What is obvious is that you are not meant to use the carts and to be fair I suppose most of the customers of this particular establishment likely don't need to.  It's hard to fill even a small cart with groceries, when all you're feeding is your organically pious vegan self and your purse dog...and perhaps your indeterminate-gendered "partner".

But I digress...

Once we (and by which I mean Mikey) got the hang of trundling through the aisles, the next challenge presented itself...

Did you know you could buy bison steak at Whole Foods?  Not just bison steak, but bison burgers and assorted bison innerds, on top of the usual organic, non-steroid-injected, grass-fed assorted meats.  Actually, it was a surprisingly diverse assortment of meats for a store that seems to cater more to a crowd of grass-feds themselves, but I am all for diversity!  Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.  Which is why the next revelation came as such a shock. 

As we weaved back and forth among the bison steaks, the non-pasturized milk and locally grown arugula, one thing was distressingly absent...Coke.  No Coke.  No ginger ale.  No pop whatsoever.  Not even a pop aisle.

And no chips, either.  Unless what you're looking for is locally produced, organic corn tortilla chips in every colour of the rainbow.  That's the chip aisle.

No check mark beside those items on the list.  Move on to the next items...surely a place which offers bison steaks, has phyllo pastry and cream cheese..?!  Nope.  No phyllo pastry.  None.  Not even the organically produced, eco-blessed, exhorbitantly priced kind.

I scoured the shelves for cream cheese but came up short.  At which point, I approached the thoroughly miserable looking woman behind the cheese counter, to ask for guidance.  Whoever told you that eco-consciousness and "organic" life make you happy, lied, LIED, LIED!  With a hearty look of full-on leftard derision, she silently lead me to the last shelf I looked on and pointed out a 2-foot span at which the cream cheese could be located, but do you think I saw the word Philadelphia anywhere?!  Don't be preposterous!  We don't carry that common filth at our sacred trough!  You must purchase the 200 gram portion of "organic" locally produced goat's milk cream cheese for the value-added price of $8.99!!!

I probably could have been arrested for the look I gave the miserable cow, but she didn't pause in her silent pretentious haughtiness to register that my inquiry was more than a socially-generated construct within her existential reality.  Back to the counter she went, without a word spoken.

I had no better luck with anything else on my list, but I did manage to treat myself to a pricey bouquet of locally-grown Gerbera Daisies, in a lovely shade of Tangerine, to adorn my dinner table.  Too bad we couldn't eat them.  But perhaps what I assumed as the Floral Department, was really Produce.  Who knows?

So, with an overwhelming sense of crushing defeat, having wasted precious unwasteable moments, and a list of items still to be acquired elsewhere, I slipped past the pasty-white stick figures in line at the checkout -- with their "recycled" "organic" "paper" grocery bags and bike helmets -- and emerged into the parking lot with an indescribable frustrated rage that took all my will to not vent on the Lexus convertible sports coup in the handicap space outside.

Between the miniscule food portions, the absurd prices, the notable absence of anything which may contain white sugar and the palpable sense of contempt for anyone not fully steeped in the eco-guilt that compels whole swathes of the population to live in a state of austere meagerness, I was faced with the realization that there is actually a market for a place such as this.  Ever more disturbing, that market is growing.

Dare I hope that, since these people never have any babies, one day all of them -- and their purse dogs -- will be gone and with them, the Bizarro universe that is the Whole Foods Market?

Maybe so.  Until then though, I will live and sleep in fear that the world I always thought I knew has suddenly and, without explanation or warning, turned itself inside-out and given itself over to the madness and chaos of anti-space.

Whole Foods *scoff*.  Whole lotta nothin'.

The impression of authority

Whereby, if the police lose it in the eyes of the public, they will not be able to assert it when needed.

Or to state it more simply...

Screaming at and insulting or threatening the cops should be punished harshly, or they will not be able to do the very dangerous job they have sworn to.  And a university-educated professor, with the President on his personal Rolodex, should know and respect that.

Instead, we look for insidious motives and bigotry in a police officer who was just doing his job in the face of a loud-mouthed jerk, who thinks his social station makes him a exception to the law -- and simple courtesy.

Swallowing Sharia

Like asking the doctor to accept the delusions, before treating the psycho...

Israel and the United States should understand the Islamic laws Hamas obeys to begin finding solutions for a peaceful coexistence.

[..]

We argue that engagement with Hamas is essential, and possible. To understand how, it is necessary to take into account that many of Hamas's statements and actions are governed and limited by its understanding of Islamic religious law (sharia), a comprehensive code relevant to all aspects of life for believing Muslims, very much including politics. We maintain that Hamas cannot be understood without understanding the sharia background of many of its policies.

The authors claim that all Hamas needs is a little understanding and that if Israel were to just accept the homicidal delusions of an avowed terrorist organization that declares in it's charter a desire to eliminate Israel, well then, everyone just might get along.

I have to ask though, if Hamas has signaled a willingness to enter a truce and honor previous agreements, how would they be expected to do so when they refuse to recognize the other party to the deal?  Semantic?  Or an astute observation on the shrewd carrot and stick game being played out, ad infinitum, on the middle east peace front?

Recognizing Israel -- and it's right to exist -- is an essential factor to any acceptance of a deal with them.  Refusing to do so, renders moot any claim that borders or sovereignty would be respected.

The sad fact that Hamas "won one of the freest and fairest elections ever conducted in the Middle East. In doing so, Hamas became the legally and duly chosen representative of the Palestinian people" does less to legitimize them as a democratic entity, than it does to de-legitimize the pathologically destructive populace who overwhelmingly chose them as representatives.  Some people just never tire of being victims.

More on Gates-gate

If I were an aspiring burglar, looking for an easy mark, I'd peg this guys house.

Because, no matter how much noise I make, the neighbors are unlikely to call police now, and the police would never come if they did, anyway.

And a headline I wish I had written

One would think the leader of the free world would have more important things to do these days, than meddle in a routine local policing operation.

But with an old axe to grind and a behemoth size grievance chip on his racially sensitive shoulder, I guess he might prioritize a little differently.

Loopholes

Who would have thought the Iranians had so much respect for the rule of law..?

The anonymous militiaman, exposing a part of the Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei's religious regime in Iran, told The Jerusalem Post that at age 18 he was "given the honor to temporarily marry young girls before they were sentenced to death".

In the Islamic Republic of Iran it is illegal to execute a woman if she is a virgin, the former guard said.

So the Government arranges "wedding" ceremonies to be conducted the night before executions, and prisoners are forced to have sexual intercourse with a guard

I guess they don't want convicted criminals joining the ranks of the 72 virgins promised to martyrs, in heaven.  It's good to have standards, I guess.

No rest for Snickers

One day, our beloved whiskered family member, Munchkin, will come to the end of her life.  My hope is that this end will come peacefully and within the warmth of our loving home.  When it does, I intend to reserve a special place for her, in the back garden, where the family can memorialize and keep her close.  At which time, you will not see me wringing hands and panicking over what the nanny-state bylaw boobs have to say about it...

I hadn't even considered the idea, assuming it would be against city bylaws. Immediately seized with the notion that a corner of our garden would be forever Snickers, I began planning. But when my husband the gravedigger asked for specifics, we realized we needed guidance.

[..]

A trip to the City of Toronto website offered me requisite strike- related information about garbage and the city's offer. It also taught me that Toronto is home to six opera companies and something called the Bicycle Friendly Business Awards. I'm feeling pretty reassured about swine flu. But not a shred of information that I could find relating to my cat's final resting place.

[..]

We finally found our answer, courtesy of a Hamilton law firm's website. Apparently, the Dead Animal Disposal Act stipulates an animal be buried at least 2 feet deep.

Family members took turns digging a hole we all agreed was deep enough to do right by the cat, the neighbours and any bylaws we might not know about.

Alas, some people simply cannot make a simple decision, on behalf of their family, regarding a 2 foot space on their own property, without the intervention and guidance of bureaucrats...

We would have loved to keep her there. But Sunday, after a lingering sense of unease, many phone calls, web searches and the like, an emergency city animal control number was able to tell us it was not okay. And so it was back to the shovel, and back to the vet's.

So unable to let their sleeping *er* cat lie, they dug up the poor creature from her home-based resting place to satisfy an arbitrary and obscure restriction that, had they dealt with it quietly, no one would have even known was violated...and little Molly would be able to visit Snickers in the sanctity of her own backyard.

So sad, really.

The Stripper's Secret

Something every female salesperson should understand and exploit...

Psychologist Geoffrey Miller and colleagues tapped the talent at local gentlemen's clubs and counted tips made on lap dances. Dancers made about $70 an hour during their peak period of fertility, versus about $35 while menstruating and $50 in between.

Miller links the wage fluctuations to changes in body odor, waist-to-hip ratio, and facial features. Despite operating at the upper limits of flirtatiousness already, he says there may also be subtle shifts in their behavior—"how they talk and move when enticing a customer to buy a dance, and how they perform the dance itself."

It's been a lot of years since I was on the lap-dancing end of this phenomenon, but I have to admit it explains a few things.  It seems my habit of taking the days around my period off from *ahem* work was economically shrewd...who knew?

Dear Japan

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-- Dylan Thomas

Summer fun

I've been on vacation all week, which you might think means I have plenty of time to blog but no.  I spent from open to close at Wonderland, with 6 kids, yesterday and have plans for an extended beach trip today.  The whole week has been like that and as a consequence, blogging has suffered.

Sorry folks, but I only get 3 weeks a year to spend uninterrupted time with our kids and I don't want to waste it.

So, things will be quiet today and probably most of tomorrow.  I will post a pinup on Sunday, to catch up, and back to normal blogging next week. ***Update -- No pinup, guys.  Sorry :(

Enjoy the sun.  I certainly plan to!

My two cents

On this...

My first husband was Bulgarian -- not exactly a place that hemorrhages refugees.

His best friend was a guy who grew up in the flat below his family and by all accounts, lived an average Bulgarian life.  He was of a darker complexion, dark hair and dark olive skin.  This turned out to be his ticket to the life when his network of friends, who had all gamed the Canadian immigration system for all they were worth, advised him that with the help of a sufficiently generic sob story, his appearance would help him claim refugee status as a Bulgarian Roma.

And they were right.

Within a year of claiming -- after having already been here for more than 2 years, illegally -- he was granted refugee status as a victim of discrimination.

Things don't seem to be much different in the Czech Republic.

And they wonder why many Canadians resent immigrants.

The only good thing to come out of 9/11

...was 19 dead Muslims...

A high profile Sudanese woman journalist is facing 40 lashes after being accused of wearing "indecent" clothes, with 10 women already whipped for similar offences against Islamic law.

Lubna Ahmed al-Hussein, who writes for the left-wing Al-Sahafa newspaper and works for the media department of the United Nations Mission in Sudan, was arrested in Khartoum last week and charged with dressing indecently.

I'm sure her colleagues at the left-wing newspaper she writes for would encourage her to be tolerant of the cultural differences under Sharia law.

Rewriting Webster

In the dictionary:

ol⋅i⋅gar⋅chy  

1. a form of government in which all power is vested in a few persons or in a dominant class or clique; government by the few.

2. a state or organization so ruled.

3. the persons or class so ruling.

In socialist Venezuela:

1. Buy your own damn food and medical treatments...if you can find them.

This is what I get for being a slacker

You guys do all the really fun stuff while I'm away.

It's that little-known Yoga routine where you put your feet behind your head and shove your head up your butt.

Tales from the crypt

Missing from this report is the fact that the 4 accused are all African-American, themselves.  If this had been done by white people, the peals of "hate crime" would have been enough to wake the dead...

At one time, Burr Oak Cemetery was the only place black Chicagoans were sure they could bury their dead.

But on Wednesday, the historic African-American cemetery became the site of a horror story.

As many as 100 human bodies — someone’s grandfather, grandmother, father, son, daughter, aunt, uncle, niece, nephew cousin or friend — were removed from their graves and the plots resold.

The manager of Burr Oak Cemetery and three gravediggers were charged this morning, accused of scheming to dig up gravesites and resell them.

Disgraceful as this is -- and make no mistake, this is a despicable thing -- I'm always astounded when people characterize these things as a "crime against the dead".  They're dead.  They are beyond feeling or caring what happens to their bodies.  Otherwise, I'm sure that whole embalming thing, along with bloating and various carnivorous, many-legged critters would cause just a wee bit of discomfort, no?

This is a crime against their surviving families and simple human decency.  Let's just keep a grip on that.

In other words...

Asian men really do tend to be bad drivers and most news reports about drive-by shootings include the words "black male"...

What people call “stereotypes” are what scientists call “empirical generalizations,” and they are the foundation of scientific theory. That’s what scientists do; they make generalizations. Many stereotypes are empirical generalizations with a statistical basis and thus on average tend to be true. If they are not true, they wouldn’t be stereotypes.

Eco-cred is the new commodity

Only in marketing, would they define the erection of an enormous new billboard as "going green".

The only good thing to come out of 9/11

...was 19 dead Muslims.

Their holy man gets his rocks off on a 9-year-old girl but the one deserving of their fatal wrath is the guy who agreed to publish a book about it.

That's F%!*-ed up.

But can this judge really be from England..?

Mrs Justice Rafferty told them: 'If you choose to live in this country, you live by its rules.'

'There is no such thing as "a la carte citizenship" and, in your case, there is no such thing as "a la carte obedience" to the law.' 

I'm sure the PC police will set her straight in short order.

I'd laugh too

You're assuming these silly chumps can read.

Wedded bliss or narcissistic exercise?

I’m a simple gal.  Don’t laugh now, it really is true.  As such, my upcoming wedding should prove to be relatively simple; I am growing my own flowers, making my own cake and making the dresses for our 3 girls, who will comprise the female portion of the wedding party.  Other than that, most of the usual frills and silly, frivolous traditions are being shunned for a small, simple ceremony and a close dinner.

Like I said…simple.

I’m also the kind of gal who thinks that the poor, unassuming gent who had the courage and courtesy to ask me to marry him, should actually get a say in some of the planning of the day.

This apparently makes me rarest of all.

Most people are subtle about it.  The lady who handles the reservations at the banquet hall directs most questions straight to me, rather than to us…the ladies at the dress shop express surprise and confusion that I would like my fiance’s opinion on my dress…the florists I consulted (before deciding to do my own) invariably expected I would make a decision on flowers without consulting my partner.

I get it.  Really, I do.  Everyone has been imbued with the certainty that the wedding day is the bride’s day.  Apparently, the poor schlep who comprises the other half of the pair, is just another accessory to be incorporated into the taffeta landscape.

Doesn’t anyone notice something seriously wrong with that?

Mikey went tuxedo shopping with my son this week.  I made it very clear to him that I expected him to pick whatever his heart desired.  The only stipulation I had was that I did not want him to match tie or cummerbund with the accent color of my dress – because it’s pink and I think it looks ridiculous to put a grown man in anything pink.  It’s really a mercy, because I love him and do not see the need to humiliate him for the sake of color symmetry.

Sadly, this seemed to be a concession that simply could not be comprehended by the professionals in charge of supplying tuxedos to the poor unfortunate souls who are rarely permitted to have minds of their own.

Don’t you want to match her colors?  What do you mean you don’t need the tuxedo to match her dress?  Gasp!

How did we get here, where a perfectly mature gentleman, entering into a respectful partnership, with (presumably) an equally mature lady, is not permitted the simple pleasure of picking his own clothing for the day without fear of recrimination?

Am I the only woman in this place who is sane enough to recognize that sharing the day with the love of my life involves allowing him the dignity of a say in things?

Seriously.  I see these neurotic, self-centered control freaks who micro-manage every single detail and condescendingly over-ride their partners (when they bother to let them have a say, at all)…and then they wonder why they are divorced within 5 years.

Honestly ladies.  It’s not your day (singular).  It’s your day (plural)…you and him.  If you love him enough to share your life with him, you should love him enough to let him share in the most important day of both your lives.

I’m sure there are plenty of men out there who don’t really care about the color of the icing on the cake, but if the poor bugger is standing at the altar, drowning in a sea of ivory and peach, that is not a relationship where he is getting the consideration and respect of his wife-to-be.

Unless of course, it’s Rupaul.

They love to hate him

Really.  The Turd Blossom Garden simply must not be missed.

I am anxious to see the Obama version, and I even have some suggestions for suitable attractions:

Blindfolded Diplomatic Etiquette Obstacle Course

Bailout Roller Coaster (complete with seat restraints that never let you off)

Nuclear Armed Tyrant Whack-A-Mole (with Q-tip sized mallet)

There's not just criticism on offer here, at The Lasso.  We're just chock full of suggestions, too!

Must be a slow news day

Especially for a media that usually tends to be more hostile than deferential, to Catholic religious practice...

A senior New Brunswick Roman Catholic priest is demanding the Prime Minister's Office explain what happened to the sacramental communion wafer Stephen Harper was given at Roméo LeBlanc's funeral mass.

During communion at the solemn and dignified service held last Friday in Memramcook for the former governor general, the prime minister slipped the thin wafer that Catholics call "the host" into his jacket pocket.

In Catholic understanding, the host - once consecrated by a priest for the Eucharist - becomes the body and blood of Jesus Christ. It is crucial that the small wafer be consumed when it is received.

Monsignor Brian Henneberry, vicar general and chancellor in the Diocese of Saint John, wants to know whether the prime minister consumed the host and, if not, what happened to it.

If Harper accepted the host but did not consume it, "it's worse than a faux pas, it's a scandal from the Catholic point of view," he said.

Which leads one to wonder what the reaction would be had he chewed it up and spit it back out.

The Catholic Church really needs to get a grip, if this is what ruffles feathers over there.  As for demanding that the PM's office spend valuable time issuing a statement to address this concern...don't you think they just might have more important matters to address?

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Paglia on Palin

Now that's a mud wrestling match that I'd pay plenty to watch, but alas...

Whether Palin has a national future or not will depend on her willingness to hit the books at some point and absorb more information about international history and politics than she has needed to know in her role as governor. She also needs a shrewder, cooler take on the mainstream media, with its preening bullies, cackling witches, twisted cynics and pompous windbags. The Northeastern media establishment is in decline, and everyone knows it. Palin should not have gotten into a slanging match with David Letterman or anyone else who has been obsessively defaming her or her family. Let surrogates do that stuff.

She also laments Palin's somewhat unpolished interactions with media and public.  That is a valid criticism if what you expect from a politician is business as usual.  For those of us looking for a breath of fresh air, unpolished is a welcome change.

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