‘You’re a bad man’ says British boy to Nairobi gunman.
“No we aren’t, here’s a Mars bar. Now run off and convert to Islam. Can you forgive us?”
The above is not parody. The above is what happened at the mall shooting in Kenya over the weekend.
The mind boggles.
On the one hand, it’s good to see that some spark, however small and cold, of moral awareness remains in a jihadi. We should never wish our enemies to be totally depraved.
But “Forgive us?” Forgiveness presupposes contrition, and contrition presupposes sin. If the jihadi believes that he is doing God’s work in gunning down unarmed civilizans, then the only consistent response to being told “You are a bad man,” would be a bullet.
Yet that did not happen. The truth shall set you free, even out of the mouths of babes.
Anthony Weiner has today boasted today that ‘people who know me are still going to vote for me’ as he headed back out on the campaign trail in Manhattan, in defiance of revelations about explicit messages and photos that he sent to a 23-year-old political activist a year after resigning from Congress.
The disgraced politician, who was previously leading the race to become New York City’s next mayor, is now being called on by his competitors to drop out and was the subject of scathing editorials from the city’s leading newspapers. Billionaire Republican candidate John Catsimatidis and Democrats Sal Albanese and Bill de Blasio have all made statements urging him to resign, with de Blasio saying: ‘Enough is enough’.
I was gone all weekend sans internet, so I’m just glomming onto this now. I am without words.
See, if that had happened last December, I might have bought into all that Mayan Prophecy horse-puckers.
I mean, what’s next?
You have been warned.
If I was a cynical man, I’d suspect that whatever intern at NSTB “confirmed” this decided that it was too funny NOT to go on the air. In any case, if you’re like me, you will laugh, and then despise yourself for laughing.
What makes it extra funny is the serious “journalist” voice that the anchor uses, and how carefully she pronounces “Fuk” so that it does not run afoul of Standards & Practices.
They have since retracted the names.
via Protein Wisdom.
I’ve ignored this, because I don’t often concern myself with cooking show celebrities, because I hate cooking shows. They inflame the desire but cannot satisfy it. They are to the palate what strip clubs are to the libido.
What noise crossed my transom made it sound as though Paula Deen had dropped an n-bomb sometime last week. Which didn’t sound impossible. She’s old, and old people sometimes fail to fully internalize new standards of behavior. So, when the zeitgeist seemed to say “Get ye gone, you old racist purveyor of sugary deliciousness,” I shrugged. No, I did not take the time to shrug.
Because that word has become a signifier of what has become our society’s cardinal heresy: intolerance. And as when the Inquisition rolled into town hunting Cathars and Fraticelli, those who get caught with it had best just go ahead and abase themselves. Anything else smells of relapse.
Howsomever, a few people’s Facebook posts suggested that the n-bomb in question was 20 years past it’s prosecute-by date. So I dug. And having gotten a basic gist from Teh Interwebs (E Online was kind enough to give us a scandal timeline), my attitude has changed to:
People, Al Sharpton is on Deen’s side on this. At least in so far as he considers it unfair to hold something she said 20 years ago against her.
Al. Freaking. Sharpton.
When Al Sharpton says that there’s not enough racism to warrant controversy, I think that means there’s not enough racism to warrant controversy. I tend to assume Al Sharpton has gone through the couch cushions and found every last bit of toothsome racism to suckle on.
Yes, yes, I know, Al Sharpton is not the Boss of Black People (Jay-Z is). And it’s entirely fair to point out that an n-bomb dropped in 1993 is hardly the same as one from 1943 or even 1963. But Holy Lord, is there anyone out there who’s cool with having all of their mistakes from 1993 made into public scandal?
Of course, if it should come out that Paula is still as racist as a minstrel show, then all of this will be inoperative. But otherwise, this all seems terrifyingly obligatory. Even the Inquisition let you off the hook when you confessed your error.
What’s all this then?
The Supreme Court trolls us again, with a brace of decisions designed to irritate everyone. First, DOMA gets smacked down, on what seems like a federalism basis, but which Justice Scalia assures is us not. Then, the plaintiffs in California’s Prop 8 case get told they have no standing to sue, and instructs the appelate court to dismiss on that basis.
What else? Mick Jagger, who’s always had an ear to the shifting grounds of cool, announces to the world that it’s now all right to make fun of Obama. Of course, they booed him. The Divinity of Caeser shall not be question.
I don’t care. I’ve joined a gym and put the finishing touches on a novel. Or what seems to be finishing touches. Perfect PDF’s develop errors on the way to the online print-check. You know the drill. This one has been in embryo for a while, has actually been out for notes from various friends in an initial draft form. I’ve reached that delicate point where I am satisfied with it. It is what it is and does what it does. Personally, I think it’s great, and if it sells, there might could be a sequel. Might could.
The Title: Solar System Blues.
Also, enjoy a rather silly track I slapped together with the Yellofier:
That’s all. Enjoy the heat.
Here’s a joke from my old blog:
A: With a crowbar.
This was in response not only to the linked material, but to the centrifugal talking points that accompanied the almost-extradition of Roman Polanski from Switzerland a few years ago. You remember, “it wasn’t rape-rape” and “what was that little girl doing there anyway?” and all of that. At the time, I turned it all into an essay entitled “With the Rich and Mighty, or is Roman Polanski as smart as Michael Vick?” (available as part of my Typing into the Void collection, which I mention instead of rattling any kind of tip jar. It’s only $2.99 on Kindle!) It seemed to me then, and seemed to me now, that proggies are entirely willing to give legal passes to members of Designated Victim Groups and/or Significantly Important Artistes. Polanski was both.
Kaitlyn Hunt, an 18-year-old charged with statutory rape on a 14-year-old girl, only meets the first requirement. But that’s good enough for the sterling intellectuals at Daily Kos, who are busily pretending that Florida law, which has set its age of consent at 16 or 18 years old, depending on closeness of age, somehow has a “unless it’s for hot lesbo action” corollary. Other McCain has the goods.
I seem to recall an Ally McBeal storyline along the same lines: defending a woman in her 30′s charged with seducing a 16-year-old boy because she was full of so many feels and just had to Bridge her Madison County, IYKWIMAITYD. It’s okay if you’re a woman, or gay, or a gay woman. Heterosexual males, on the other hand…
(Sidebar: How stale are my pop culture references? I mean, Ally McBeal, Bridges of Madison County, and then I toss in a quote from Wargames. These jokes are all old enough vote. I need to hang out at Buzzfeed some more.)
My mind is filled with misgivings on this. In the first place, reality shows have less than a proven track record at distinguishing the truly talented from the merely photogenic (Name the debut albums of any five American Idol winners). I can’t escape the notion that a genius is going to lose to an attractive mediocrity in the race to be the first extraterrestrial human.
In the second place, can humans actually, you know, live on Mars?
How are they going to get food? What are they going to live in? How will they get air to breathe? Sure, they’ll be sent into space with these things, but a lifetime’s supply?
Mars is poorly suited for human habitation. There’s some ice at the poles and perhaps some water in underground repositories. Gravity is only 38 percent as strong as on Earth. The atmosphere is thin and consists mostly of carbon dioxide (95%). So colonists would have to either take air from Earth or make air on Mars. Plants efficiently separate the oxygen bound to carbon and therefore can make air we can breathe, so colonists should take plants along.
The Martian atmosphere is too thin to hold oxygen, which would just escape to space. So the plants would have to be cultivated in greenhouses and the oxygen they produce kept in flasks.
Mars has a very weak magnetic field, and its atmosphere offers little protection against radiation from space. So the Martian colonists would have to build radiation protection into their houses and wear thick suits. Unlike Earth, where most incoming meteorites burn up in the atmosphere, many meteorites crash dangerously onto the surface of Mars.
The Martian weather is awful. It’s cold: the average temperature of the southern hemisphere is minus 60 degrees Celsius; even at the equator, it’s seldom over zero. Winds are fierce and blow at speeds of several hundred kilometres an hour, and storms can last for months. The wind whirls up fine dust that penetrates everything and sticks to all surfaces, which literally would toss sand in the gears of vital mechanical and electronic equipment.
And even if all of that is overcome, what’s the next step? Are the First Martians merely going on an extended vacation, or are they planning on breeding? Since the contest is going to narrow things down to 4 people, does that mean 2 men and 2 women? We know that sex in space is well, difficult, and reproduction in space may be highly unlikely (and inadvisable anyway, due to the hightened levels of ratiation). Will Mars be any better? Even if the radiation issue gets handled, Mars’ gravity is not going to get any stronger.
Let’s keep in mind that it takes a little under a year to even get to Mars, and that’s when the planet is closest to us. So those winners better have monastic discipline even to survive the journey. If growing food doesn’t work out, resupply operations will probably be available at three-year intervals, at best. And unless some means of blasting off the planet is developed, a rescue operation is impossible.
Bottom line: The Martian Roanoke, without the thrill of mystery.
The Tories have responded by insisting UKIP has no real policies, to which I would say that this hasn’t held them back. Their ragtag combination of Keynesianism and liberal dogma doesn’t represent a coherent response to the mess we’re in. Then there’s the accusation that UKIP is merely a protest party that will dilute the conservative vote and let Labour back in. Well maybe they are a protest party, but the point of protest is to force change. If the threat of a Labour victory persuades the Tories to go back to their roots and adopt some of the ideas advanced by UKIP, that protest will have done its job. I would gladly vote for a Conservative Party that thinks like Nigel Farage.
Is there an election coming up? I really have no idea.