Sunday roundup and ramble

A sliver of transparency and accountability shines through in Iraq.

Sibling rivalry, Shanghai and Hong Kong edition. Meanwhile, Robert Kaplan urges us to pay more attention to China.

What special interests? What backwardness? Political infighting can make cannibalism look good.

Speaking of modern-day horrors: what will our our grandchildren hold us accountable for?

A mostly intelligent parsing of the town hall meeting. See also Working America: Part II. Michelle Singletary has more as well.

Interesting... I'm not a believer in foreign pronunciation of place names. When you're speaking English, just say the word in English.

The Times revisits its Op-Ed pages of yore.

Why do I even subscribe to the Post when they neglected to let me know about Isabel Allende's appearance at the National Book Festival (or about the Festival, altogether)? I would have loved to have heard her presentation.

Apparently, I also missed national singles' week... but I won't miss the opportunity to blog about single issues. I've been meaning to for a while, at least since a few weeks ago, when I was talking to my parents.

A.: Gracie says hi.
Dad: What's she doing?
A.: Sunning in the yard. Now she's talking.
Mom: Well, at least you have someone to talk to.

You'd think that I've heard enough variations on this misconception that I'd let it go, and I did. Until I read about some guy complaining that he doesn't get why he can't find a girlfriend--for one thing, he writes, he's more fun than a cat.

I'm not sure how to say this so that it sticks. I'm also not sure why the Times is obsessed with the the issue. And I wonder whether Kate Zernike will revisit it in her new book. But I digress. I want to clear up some confusion, if I may speak for (many) single women: we don't get cats as a substitute for human companionship. We get cats because we like cats. The two--our singlehood, and our adoption of furry friends--lack a causal relationship. Think about it for a minute: if I could be satisfied with a human companion incapable of intelligent conversation, whose communication skills were limited to "meow=I'm hungry," "meow=I want to go outside," "meow=pay attention to me," I doubt I'd be single. And no, grilling skill is not one of my criteria, but a more varied vocabulary than the above--preferably not vocalized in a high-pitched whine--would be great. Speaking of the settling issue, see Andy Borowitz's "The Good Enough Baby" piece in the New Yorker.