Tuesday evening roundup

Why is there a Colbertgate? See the Daily Show's take:

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Also see Ezra Klein's analysis of the economics of immigration.

On a quasi-related topic, I'd pay more for milk from this fair-wage, good-working-conditions dairy that goes out of its way to hire refugees.

Phone call

I wrote a week or two ago that mom often calls at the worst possible moments. While it wouldn't be fair to hold that against her, the fact that she does it is still a reality. Don't get between a woman on her fourth round of poison ivy and her zertec. I had it in one hand when the phone rang, had just broken through the child-proof packaging when it rang the fourth time. I was about to pour myself a glass of water but I thought I'd better answer.

Mom: Why didn't you return my call?
A.: I didn't know you'd called.
Mom: Yesterday.
A.: I didn't get the message.
Mom: I didn't leave a message. But I called. How are things?
A.: Fine. How are you?
Mom: Better. The doctor figured out why I was so tired--it was that same infection.
A.: You're on antibiotics now?
Mom: Eye drops.
A.: I'm glad you're feeling better. How's dad? How's dad's car?

I think I was too tired to blog about this after it happened, but I happened to call my parents the day my dad was in a car accident. The front of his car was sideswiped by a truck coming down a hill, not far from his office. I should have blogged it at the time, because I no longer remember in excruciating detail, but I do remember that my mother proceeded to provide a lot of irrelevant information when I was pretty much interested in whether or not dad was okay and whether they were good with dealing with the insurance, the other driver's insurance, etc. It's almost funny--when I tell a story, I get flustered, because mom interrupts to ask for details that are completely irrelevant; when she tells a story, she gets flustered because I interrupt to ask her to spare me the completely irrelevant details.

Mom: It's in the shop. The appraiser should come look at it any day now.
A.: You've been in contact with the other driver's insurance?
Mom: It's funny--Thursday, or maybe Friday, or maybe Thursday... actually, I think it was Friday, or...
A.: Mom, it doesn't matter...
Mom: It does matter! Don't interrupt! I'm not going to talk to you if you keep interrupting.
A., unwrapped Zertec pill in hand: Could. you. just. tell. me. who. called?
Mom: The truck company's lawyer called, acknowledged it was their fault.
A.: Well, that's good.
Mom: I told him it's a wonder it doesn't happen more often, that road being what it is.

Mom always talks too much. By which I'm not talking about volume; I'm talking about providing superfluous information that may or may not be used against her. She does it when she writes complaint letters (read: when she demands that I write complaint letters); she does it when she's trying to ward off an aggressive sales pitch; and she does it in various negotiations and other interactions where less is more. The best response to an aggressive sales pitch is, "no, I'm not interested," not, "no, see, I already have one in a different color." But I digress.

Mom: Anyway, I told our insurance company.
A.: Good, let them deal with it.

Monday evening roundup

I invite my fellow adherents to free market economics to challenge the Farm Bureau on its logic. Farm Bureau: check out those graphs: those industrial farms are polluting a public resource, and the cost of their product should reflect that pollution. If you're saying you don't know why a farmer would continue farming if those costs--of his or her own pollution--were incurred directly by him or her, rather than society at large, then maybe the farmer shouldn't continue. Why should I subsidize meat farmers' pollution? It's my Bay, too.

I have mixed feelings about this victory for truth in (food) advertising. As unnatural foods go, you can do a lot worse than Dutch-processed cacao, and even corn syrup. And since the term "natural" doesn't mean anything on nutritional labels anyway, why does it matter?

Remember that episode of 30 Rock when Liz (thought she) sat next to Oprah on a flight.

The Onion on Sesame Street.

Monday morning roundup

Unemployment in South Africa is really bad.

Fareed Zakaria on Turkey and Brazil.

Here's the other thing about segway tours: do we not have an obesity crisis in this country? Can people not get off the motorized vehicles and walk? What a concept. Similarly, all you jackasses who misuse handicapped parking placards: we live in a city with decent public transportation. If you don't want to deal with the parking clusterf*, take the metro or bus.

Those of you who still haven't checked out Remy's metro song (posted a week or two ago), should. And let me tell you: just in the last few days, numerous people have pulled that idiotic thing where they barely walk into the train and then stop and think about which whey they're going to go, while a line of people behind them hopes to get on the same train.

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.

Saturday morning roundup

There's a toilet museum in New Delhi? I wonder whether it showcases the latest Japanese models. But I digress. Sanitation in India appears to be quite the clusterf*.

Did someone say clusterf*? See Afghanistan, where the police beat children with kites. At an event meant to promote warm fuzzies about good governance. Meanwhile, stateside, an ecumenical field trip brings out the worst in some parents.

Whereas our government always functions smoothly. And when it doesn't, elected officials can take it out on the federal workforce.

No amount of marketing is getting Americans to eat our vegetables. Speaking of which, Colbert testified yesterday. I'll post the videos later.

Prepare for an invasion of the stinkbugs.

Thursday evening ramble

We issued a product on Tuesday... and promptly started working on our next project. This morning, we (P. and I) met with our new assistant director, who, at the end of the meeting, said that management was recently advised to "talk about diversity" when starting work with new people.

A.: I'm Jewish, which translates into the following: (1) I talk a lot; (2) I'm obsessed with food; and (3) I have mom issues. Oh, and while we're on demographics, I'm also "single woman with cat," and I have a gay husband.

***
Speaking of demographics, I was thinking of Petula Dvorak's column, and how out of touch she is with the whole "one of your cars is a hybrid and the other is an SUV" business. How about, one of my cars is a Corolla (purchased used) and the other is a bicycle, but I don't judge people with SUVs, particularly because my friends who have them are kind enough to help me move furniture?

Wednesday evening roundup

It's a good week for the Onion. See here and the third item here.

The explanation here just cracks me up:

Dr. Nick Neave who led the study as part of a larger project about attraction and movement. Neave said, "Women are spending money on high heels, which can be dangerous, presumably to make themselves look good and add to what nature has given the..."

Um, women don't wear heels to impress men; women don't generally dress based on what men would think. We are aware that the vast majority of straight men couldn't care less.

Wednesday morning roundup

I can't believe some people's sense of entitlement. You deserve to park in a handicapped spot sometimes because you're your handicapped husband's sole caregiver? It's not about merit; it's about preserving those spots for the people who need them most. I'll defer to Dennis Leary's inimitable words on the topic:

I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, what an asshole)
I'm an asshole (He's the world's biggest asshole)

Sometimes I park in handicapped spaces,
While handicapped people make handicapped faces.
I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, what an asshole)
I'm an asshole (He's a real fucking asshole)

Pearlstein checks in on the private sector and finds a healthy pulse.

This worm-in-the-eye story is so creepy that I dreamed about it. Speaking of worms--apparently, they're what's for dinner.

The swiffer turns out to be quite versatile. I'll sure use it next time I need to beat someone.

Tuesday morning roundup

One option in Afghanistan--not an uncommon one, if you want more opportunities for her--is to raise a daughter as a boy.

And then there's Iraq.

Maybe instead of red herring threats to our justice system, we could get enraged about what's actually happening.

Petula Dvorak always kind of annoys me, but she gets the spirit of the Rally to Restore Sanity 90 percent right in her characterization of "the rest of us":

The ones with an SUV and a hybrid in the garage; a meatless dinner on the table and leather shoes on the feet; loving fiscal responsibility but totally into equal rights. The hipster parents rolling in their Swagger Wagon minivan. Practical and realistic, but chill and not righteous.

In the Washington area, a lot of us fall into this category. And when we turn on the television or read the blogs -- especially the ALL CAPS comments -- we're not seeing ourselves.

We see perennially tanned and coiffed women from out of town, spangled in red-white-and-blue sequins, gathering on our nation's Mall to "restore" an America no one is really sure ever existed.

Or we see the protesters in gas masks and distressed Mad Max costumes, beating drums, not showering, burning incense and unsure what, exactly, the International Monetary Fund does. But it's seriously evil, dude.

We watch as our nation's front lawn, airwaves and frequencies become the showcase and playground for extremists.

And we're fed up. Not all of us want to burn the Koran or trample the honor of those killed on Sept. 11. We get that our politicians aren't saints but don't believe all of them are crooks. We don't believe that political and moral beliefs only come in pre-packaged sets. And we understand that everyone who doesn't think like us isn't automatically suspect.

On his show, Stewart suggested the perfect sign to bring to the protest: "I am not afraid of Muslims/Tea Partiers/Socialists/Immigrants/Gun Owners/Gays . . . but I am scared of Spiders."

Monday evening roundup

Your guide to sustainable and safe seafood.

Does a diminutive nickname make you a more terrifying drug lord?

So ironic:

In a public opinion poll conducted for the 200th anniversary of the U.S. Constitution, nearly half the respondents believed that the Constitution contains Karl Marx’s phrase “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.”

Monday morning roundup

Frustrated, homeless Haitians are availing themselves of refugee camp suggestion boxes.

The UN questions its continued relevance.

Human rights in Russia are not incidental to any other aspect of that country's future, or to U.S.-Russia relations.

As the chasm grows between China's rich and poor citizens, the former are availing themselves of bodyguards.

It takes a village to help your neighbors. Or you can just deport them, if you're interested in whatever's easier.

The main point of this article is spot on--parents (and everyone else) are bad at risk assessment. But buying organics is a bad example of the silly things people do for the cause of longevity. There are lots of reasons (environmental ones, for example) to buy organic. Oh, and the article neglected to mention that eating can be up there, along with driving or riding in a car, in the list of risky things to do.

Apparently, if you don't want your car towed in DC, park it next to a fire hydrant, within a tow zone.

Saturday morning roundup

If the poor want more political clout, they're going to need to stop being poor.

Okay, but not every family whose loan modification application gets botched will benefit from a profile in the Post. Maybe Chase could f* up less before it comes to that point?

Who'd have thought that a mother's education level impacts the health of her child?

A f*ed up fashion show from FP.

I hope everyone turns out for the Rally to Restore Sanity. I know I'll be there.

Thursday morning roundup

Remy's new rap takes on the Metro. Welcome to my life. I know you're interested in more toilet pictures.

Brooks on American history.

The chocolate genome is well behaved.

Wednesday morning roundup

Tigers are endangered. So is krill, with implications for the food chain.

A symbol of agricultural policy gone wrong by any other name is just as disgusting.

Political (and other) cybersquatters are making mischief with their opposition's domain names.

Marcus, Milbank, Dowd, and Parker on tea and conspiracy theories.

Someone tell my mom, and cue Sir Mixalot: big butts are in. And you won't find this in the article, but if you're not up for padded underwear or plastic surgery, I have your way forward: squats, people. You think I was born with a butt that could dent a moving SUV? Do some squats.

Tuesday morning roundup

Why bother with the peace process when Baywatch is on.

The FDA looks back on its glory days of standing up to industry and defending the public interest.

Anne Applebaum makes the case for austerity.

Really, Newt G.?

Monday evening roundup

Check out Kurtz's very misleading use of statistics. First, he talks about percentages by political affiliation; then, percentage of people who get their news from various sources (by news source). Then--what the heck does "twice as liberal as the general public" even mean?

Let's ruin OPEC's birthday.

Many employers prefer hiring from big, less expensive schools.

Monday morning roundup

Italy's "weak institutions and tolerance for rule bending" contribute to its brand dilution as the source of high quality textiles:

But what seems to gall some Italians most is that the Chinese are beating them at their own game — tax evasion and brilliant ways of navigating Italy’s notoriously complex bureaucracy — and have created a thriving, if largely underground, new sector while many Prato businesses have gone under.

I'm not a political strategist, but cowering doesn't seem like a good campaign strategy.

Some people have no sense of irony:

"...others reflected anger about illegal immigration — “Uncle Sam wants you to speak English,” read one — and the planned Islamic cultural center near ground zero, which many Tea Party supporters have rallied against. “Obama Creates Jobs at Ground Zero,” read one sign, over a picture of a mosque.

Speaker after speaker complained about portrayals of the Tea Party movement as extremist.

But signs in the crowd did not shy away from outright anger. “By ballot or bullet, restoration is coming,” read one, held over a yellow “Don’t Tread on Me” flag....

“Undocumented worker” read one, over a picture of the president. “We don’t want a Kenyan reject,” read another."

If only I lived near a river...

Thank you for the kind feedback on the photos I posted earlier.

Here's another picture of gargantuan me, this time standing by the river that I don't have four blocks from my house. I'll add more later.

I could have been more patient

It's not mom's fault that Sunday night is the worst possible time to call me.

My goal every Sunday--one rarely achieved--is to get my laundry in at a reasonable hour, so I can dry and put it away at a reasonable hour. And then go to bed at a reasonable hour. But I won't put my laundry in until I've done everything else--cook, garden, clean, etc.--note, I am not pretending that I am working on the cure for cancer as well. But I am engaging in a variety of necessary, even if not beneficial to society, activities, and ones that result in dirty clothes and dishcloths. So by around 7pm, I'm usually failing miserably in terms of getting everything done. And the failure is stressing me out, and I need to get busy with my chores rather than talk to someone.

I didn't mind that mom called, per se. It was when she started to waste my time that I got testy.

Mom initially relayed the entire Verizon saga. Then we talked about something else (and I managed not to say, "I thought about getting you something at the Art Walk, but you probably would have just complained, so I didn't.") Then she started complaining about Verizon again.

A.: Mom, why are you telling me how evil they are? Until you call them and figure out what the bill is about, there's nothing else to be done.
Mom: I was hoping you'd call, but fine. I'll call first.
A.: I can call them. That's not a problem. [This may be the craziest week ever, work and otherwise, but I'll find time].
Mom: I just can't believe them! They didn't even...
A.: Mom, I understand.
Mom: Listen! Have patience!
A.: But I've already heard this. Several times.
Mom: Be patient!
A.: Sigh.
Mom: I could just pay them and be done with it. That would be easier.
A.: But you don't have to. Start by calling them. Telling me isn't going to help.

***
Now, by the time I've done all these things, and also, hopefully, done something fun, I want to sit on my butt and read or watch 30 Rock or something. At that point, I'd be somewhat more patient with regard to a call from mom. But not with a talkative roommate.