Bloggers are officially too boring to be officially classified any more:

The fifth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (due out in 2013, and known as DSM-5) has eliminated five of the 10 personality disorders that are listed in the current edition.

Narcissistic personality disorder is the most well-known of the five, and its absence has caused the most stir in professional circles.

Via Ann Althouse, who doubtless would have written more about it, had she not been so excited about being mentioned by Rush Limbaugh.

This month at Popehat:

Patrick congratulated the government on learning how to draft child soldiers into the Great War on Drugs;

Ezra made his co-bloggers jealous by having enough spare time to enjoy, and write about, board games (including ones that seem specially designed for Popehat) and his love of baseball;

David warned that if your Italian leader wastes money for more than four hours, you should consult a doctor;

The gang displayed a great deal of concern about TSA junk-touching, discussing the how the new scan-or-grope policies fell into the context of a history of TSA dimwittery, how hipsters can crash planes, how New Jersey is an unlikely hero, how the TSA, presented with an opportunity to be less stupid, doubled down instead. Meanwhile, Ken offered a thought experiment on genitals and Charles offered a sheepish dissent.

Speaking of overt genitals, and of aliens (oh, we're always speaking of aliens), Patrick and Ken had a look into the ways The Nation and its "journalist" Mark Ames resemble the X-Files and Mulder, only considerably less entertaining.

Meanwhile, Patrick revealed that it's not just on Lamebook that people notify family of deaths through status updates.

Ken asked people to consider whether they really want to buy a pedophile a plasma TV just to feel better about themselves.

Patrick suggested that those credit repair agencies that advertise on late-night TV might be more reliable than your government.

Ken had a run-in with an asshole about adoption and got nauseatingly emo about it, to the scorn of nearly all.

Patrick offered thanks that our politicians are protecting us from unlicensed bake sales.

Ken explained why Jesus is not the reason you got up before dawn on Black Friday;

Patrick offered a modest proposal to deal with politicians who break their oath to uphold the Constitution;

Ken discussed the freakish entitlement of Cooks Source editor Judith Griggs.

Finally, in anticipation of Thanksgiving, Patrick explained why he is thankful to be American rather than Canadian.

This is inexplicable to me, because I actually found the latest Harry Potter movie kind of dull. But if Rule 34 means anything, it means there's no accounting for taste.

Also, county lockup is usually worse than Azkaban.

There's a standard jury instruction that suggests that a jury may (but need not) infer that a person intends the natural and probable consequences of his or her actions.

Defense lawyers have fought this instructions, with mixed success, on the theory that it can be read as relieving the government of its burden of proving intent, and falsely suggests that intent may be presumed.

But if the notion is problematical in law, it's a terrific mess in politics.

For example: does Al Sharpton want to make Rush Limbaugh richer? Sharpton is a long-standing butt of Limbaugh jokes and jabs, and clearly resents the hell out of it. So it seems unlikely. Yet Sharpton has now called for the FCC to take action against Limbaugh and any other radio hosts who engage in "racial and gender bias." Limbaugh and his fans, naturally, are over the moon about this. A hated icon of the nutty Left advocating censorship of a popular conservative? It's a propaganda victory of epic proportions. It will inevitably — predictably — make Limbaugh more popular with his base, more listened to, and richer.

Did Sharpton intend that? Or did Sharpton simply not care? Was the probable result of Sharpton's fatuous censorious fantasy simply not a matter of concern to him, paling next to the daily joys of the adventure of flapping his gums and being Al Sharpton?

Or take, for that matter, the Southern Poverty Law Center. Last week the SPLC — famous for listing and monitoring hate groups like the Klan — announced that it was listing various conservative groups with anti-gay stances, including familiar ones like Concerned Women for America, the American Family Association, the Family Research Council, and the National Organization for Marriage, as "hate groups" — thus dropping them into the same category as skinheads and other neo-Nazis, based not on violence but on general anti-gay jackassery and various comments by their leaders. Now, I happen to think that groups like the American Family Association are frequently ridiculous and/or loathsome. But let's be clear: nobody who previously opposed gay marriage, or equal rights for gays, is going to switch their position and support gay rights because the SPLC has now classified these groups as "hate groups," a meretricious category that includes everyone from anti-immigration entities to skinheads to the Nation of Islam to Jack freaking Chick. Nobody who was every persuaded by these organizations' silly neo-theocratic rants about how teh gay is destroying America is going to stop listening to such drivel just because the SPLC has slapped this reductionist label on them.

No, the designation will do jack shit to help gays. It will, however, hand the anti-gay forces a tremendous propaganda victory with their base, much like the one Sharpton handed Limbaugh. The designation plays directly into the right-wing narrative that treating gays decently is part of a sinister "gay agenda" that will end with hapless decent Christians everywhere being censored by the government, possibly by Obama and Nacy Pelosi attacking them with black helicopters. The SPLC designation appears intended as an effort to move political rhetoric opposing gay marriage and gay rights into the unprincipled category of "hate speech", and from there, perhaps, subjected to some sort of limitations. But the right way to respond to anti-gay speech, political or otherwise, is with more speech — with relentless refutation and ridicule of the anti-gay forces. The natural and probable consequence of the SPLC's designation is to allow the various anti-gay groups to play the oppressed victim, and to drive large sums of money into their pockets in the forms of donations.

Again, one must ask: is the SPLC so stupid that they didn't realize that? Are they so canon-blinded that they didn't see it? Or, as some predictably suggest, do they not care because they're in it for the attention and the money themselves?

I suspect some people will be tempted to rush in and claim that I'm suggesting that people shouldn't talk about things they care about, shouldn't oppose what they view as evil, for fear of helping the other side. Not so. I'm saying, as I suggested in the context of a commercial boycott, that reasonable people ought to reflect upon the goals of their speech and how the speech helps, or impedes, those goals. Unless, of course, we're in it for ourselves.

36 years ago, a local paper ran a seasonal puff piece about the holiday traditions in my maternal grandmother's home. In addition to discussing the German and Dutch traditions handed down from my great-grandparents, it offered an array of German recipes, a purloined "secret" cheesecake recipe the publication of which remains a scandal nearly four decades later, and an array of recipes that illustrate just how much our palates have changed in that time. One of my favorite signs of change:

MEXICAN HORS D'OEUVRES

Butter a flour tortilla and place in hot frying pan, buttered side down. Cover with grated Tillamook cheese, chopped Bermuda onion and a chopped pimento. Butter a second tortilla and lay on top of the other, butter side up. When brown, flip over and brown other side. Remove to a warm plate and cut in wedges with a pizza cutter.

I'm pretty sure somebody associated with this whole affair knew that was called a quesadilla, but deemed that term inappropriate for a family newspaper in Orange County, California in 1974. Also, I had not previously appreciated the role of the pimento in easing culture shock.

My youngest aunt — still in the home at the time — reports that guests in 1974 found the "Mexican Hors D'oeuvre" remarkably novel and exotic. Now, of course, my kids have been eating quesadillas their whole life — along with sushi, tikka masala, pad thai, and sole in black bean sauce. What will they be trying to get me to eat 36 years from now, and feeding their own kids?

British programmer William Tunstall-Pedoe, longtime participant in the old usenet news group alt.anagrams and author of the much-acclaimed (but wholly freeware trumped) commercial anagramming utility Anagram Genius, now works at a semantic search startup called TrueKnowledge.com that tries to add some intelligence to search.

Using the engine's understanding of what counts as important, significant, or interesting, he posed the question "What was the least interesting day of the 20th century?"  And now that Deep Thought has pondered the question in much the same way that a person wouldn't, we know.

Ted Frank is an attorney and prolific writer. He contributes at Overlawyered and PointofLaw.com and runs the Center for Class Action Fairness. Now, thanks to Scott Greenfield, I see that Ted has opened a new blog to document TSA abuses (a topic we've written about quite a bit recently). It's called, appropriately enough, the TSA Abuse Blog. Keep an eye on it if the issue interests you.

I'm glad that Ted Frank, and people like him, are documenting the TSA, because the dead-tree media is doing a rather inconsistent job. Despite evidence of pervasive problems — from humiliations driven by brutal indifference to deliberate misconduct — many members of the chattering classes continue to tell Americans they ought to just shut up and take it. For every account, they have a dismissive response.

So when Mary in Texas, one of the Americans whose stories have been gathered by the ACLU, gives this account:

The TSA agent used her hands to feel under and between my breasts. She then rammed her hand up into my crotch until it jammed into my pubic bone…. I was touched in the pubic region in between my labia…. She then moved her hand across my pubic region and down the inner part of my upper thigh to the floor. She repeated this procedure on the other side. I was shocked and broke into tears.
- Mary in Texas

. . . the Louisville, Kentucky Courier-Journal is there to tell Mary that she is a big crybaby.

At what point did Americans turn into a nation of crybabies? Surely it preceded the sudden squall-fest resulting from new security measures at some U.S. airports — although the fuss kicked up over the weekend and continuing into this busiest of travel weeks has been loud enough to get everyone's attention.

When Paula tells this story:

She ran her hands all the way up and into my crotch with force. To get graphic she could have felt if I had a feminine pad on. When she finished with the front she did the same with my back to the point that she, what I would call groped, my butt. She went under, in between, and on my breast. It was more intense than my monthly breast exam.
- Paula M. Hamilton, Corydon, Indiana

. . . the New York Times is there to tell her she is a partisan hack:

Some individual pat-downs have gone too far, and the T.S.A. was ham-handed in answering those concerns. But the Obama administration should weather this storm by realizing these attacks are purely partisan and ideological. Americans know the difference between a big scanner and big government.

When Melissa takes this story:

I was shaking and crying the entire time. I was begging them to hurry up but they kept stopping and telling me to calm down. It is impossible to gain composure when a stranger has her hands in your underwear. A crowd gathered and watched and I never felt so humiliated. After it was over, I ran into the ladies' room where I vomited and cried until my plane was boarding.
- Melissa, Massachusetts

. . . my hometown rag, the L.A. Times, is there to tell her to shut up:

If you can't handle such a minor inconvenience, perhaps you should stay on the ground.

When "B. from Maryland" tells this story:

Simply, I was sexually assaulted. My breasts were caressed in an almost amorous manner. And on the second canvassing of my groin, single-finger pressure was applied to my labia majora – the plane of which was near-broken, during which the agent made a wildly off-color remark.
- B. from Maryland

The Houston Chronicle is there to call her a hysteric:

The hysterical hullabaloo over airport security procedures is a waste of time

The world's in a swivet over airport security.

When Charlotte in California tells this story:

This was a very different and, I maintain, a deliberately abusive experience…. the agent not only felt the inside of my upper thighs but also probed my vagina three separate times. I made it to the end of the search, but then broke down…I cannot and will not allow this to happen to me again…. I continue to have nightmares about this experience.
- Charlotte in California, female, 68

. . . the Baltimore Sun's response is to ask her why she hates America and our troops:

Whatever happened to the notion that we need to stick together to overcome extremists? U.S. soldiers are still dying for that cause in Iraq and Afghanistan on a regular basis.

And when Caitlin in Conecticut tells this story:

I was the only female in a crowd of men. Even though I was not next in line, I was called over to the body scanner. As I got closer to the scanner, I could clearly hear him say "got a cute one, some DD's." … I was appalled and decided at that point to "opt out" of the scanner…. I was then put through the pat down procedure which I only can only describe as sexual assault.
- Caitlin, Connecticut

. . . the Tennessean is there to tell her that being singled out for scans for the sexual titillation and amusement of TSA agents will make us all safer:

The enhanced screenings are necessary to avert a situation in which a would-be terrorist attempts to hide weaponry under his clothing.

Also, Ruth Marcus at the Washington post would like to add that all of these people should just grow up, shut up, and pretend you're at the doctor:

"Don't touch my junk" may be the cri de coeur – cri de crotch? – of the post-9/11 world, but it's an awfully childish one. We let people touch our junk all the time in medical settings.

Remind me, again, why I should give a shit that the newspaper industry is dying and these people will all be unemployed? Sooner or later, the state is going to have to find fluffers someplace else.

Regrettably, it can probably find its fluffers reliably in the blogosphere. It's tempting to try to frame this as a fight between statist mainstream media figures and liberty-defending bloggers. But the truth is that bloggers — small and large — are just as likely to be government-apologist, dissent-belittling assholes as mainstream journalists are — that's a point clear from a wide array of bloggers from the Koch-sniffers at The Nation to Marc Thiessen at The Corner willing to minimize, marginalize, and dismiss dissent and parrot the government message.

That's why blogs like Ted Frank's new one are important. Check it out.

(Hat tip to Reason's Hit & Run Blog for the excellent job it has done collecting the sneers of the newspapers — they gathered all of the newspaper quotes above.)

Because I'm going to drive through Raleigh, Jones' old stomping grounds, in about thirty minutes.

A Highway Patrol trooper who kicked and hoisted his canine partner off the ground by its neck should be rehired to the job he lost after videos of the mistreatment surfaced, a judge ruled.

Superior Court Judge James Hardin Jr. ruled in an order signed Monday that former North Carolina Highway Patrol Sgt. Charles Jones was improperly fired. Hardin said Jones also should recoup back pay and attorneys' fees.

This is video of Jones, "training" his state-provided Belgian Mallinois Ricoh, for the offense of refusing to let go of a rubber ball:

When I wrote about Jones' non-ASPCA-endorsed training methods earlier (after an administrative law judge ordered Jones reinstated) I was under the impression that the North Carolina Highway Patrol did not endorse Jones' rather … unusual … methods. It turns out I was wrong.  Jones must have been fired, not for doing anything wrong (after all, a dog is only a dumb brute, so it's okay to put the animal through hanging and abuse that would get a soldier in Iraq a court-martial if used against a terrorist), but because the truth embarrassed a few politicians.

Hardin ruled that although Jones' actions were not among the training techniques specifically approved by the Highway Patrol, they were no worse that the agency's accepted methods.

Jones' conduct, "while appearing excessive and extreme to the general public, is not unreasonably outside of or substantially different from several of the training techniques that are tested, trained and approved for use by the patrol," Hardin wrote.

Hardin said the Highway Patrol's dog training methods included whipping dogs, hitting them wit sticks, and using choke collars and stun guns.

"All of these training techniques are extremely harsh and well beyond what an owner of a typical 'house' pet would use to discipline or train a 'family' dog," Hardin wrote. "Canine handlers were taught to rule with an 'iron fist' as canines were 'weapons' which had to be under control at all times."

That the methods go beyond those used by the United States Army, well, that just goes to show how hard-core the North Carolina State Highway Patrol is.

So congratulations, soon-to-be ex-ex-Trooper Jones. And here's hoping the Wake, Johnston, and Durham County criminal defense bars, which also serve your territory, will be made aware of your imminent return. I'll bring the popcorn for your first cross-examination.

THE SCENE: A dank sub-basement at The Nation's headquarters. The faded lettering on the door, which is oddly hand-lettered, reads "FORENSIC BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION: K-FILES."

The sub-basement room is cluttered with file cabinets and great drifts of paper. On the left wall is a poster bearing a blurry long-distance photo of two men in expensive suits meeting with what might be a misshapen, sinister alien, or perhaps a blogger. The poster bears the caption I WANT TO BELIEVE. On the right wall is a poster bearing the caption FIGHT THE FUTURE, depicting a series of notorious historical tyrants, including Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, Ron Paul, Christine O'Donnell, Radley Balko, and Khan Noonian Singh. The other walls are covered in grainy photos, documents, and blog posts, all connected by a bewildering web of string and angry slashes of red magic marker.

MARK "SPOOKY" AMES is sitting behind a desk, paging through a file and muttering to himself.

AMES: "In 2008, the David H. Koch Foundation donated $100 million for the preservation and renovation of the State Theater of New York.  The theater was renamed the David H. Koch Theater.  The New York Ballet performs at the Koch Theater. Vladimir Putin is a patron of the Bolshoi Ballet.  The Bolshoi performed at the Koch Theater in 2009.  DAMMIT SCULLY! What am I missing?"

[Yasha "SCULLY" Levine, a young intern at the NATION, has just entered the room.  SCULLY  is stylishly dressed, wearing a lady's Prada suit and Dolce and Gabbana shoes.  She carries a stack of files to AMES's already overloaded desk, depositing them on its one empty corner.]

SCULLY: "AMES, I just ran into Katrina.  She's asking about that piece on Boehner's connections to the John Birch Society."

AMES: "The Birch Society will have to wait!"

SCULLY: "But AMES, you promised to have it ready the week before elections. We can only put her off so long. Can't you write a blog post, something to tide her over before inauguration?"

AMES: "SCULLY, if I'm right, the story we're about to break will be worth ten Republican speakers.  It won't just sweep Pelosi back into power.  It will reveal the truth about the whole rotten gang, and how they've manipulated not just politics, but HISTORY for twenty years to destabilize democracy in this country."

SCULLY: "What story is that, AMES?"

AMES: "I know where you're going with this, SCULLY."

[SCULLY sits in the chair opposite AMES, and lights a cigarette. SCULLY repeats the question, softly.]

SCULLY: "What's the story AMES?  Why have we been down here for the past two weeks?  Why this sudden interest in a pair of billionaires no one outside the CATO Institute had ever heard of until last week?"

AMES: "Because the American people have the right to know that their Transportation Security Administration works tirelessly for their benefit, to protect the citizens of this great country from the Aryan Nation, the Ohio Militia, the Israeli Mossad, the Austrian Economists, and all of the other right-wing bombers who seek to blow American planes out of the sky, just as they did on September 11, 2001."

[AMES reaches for SCULLY's cigarette, and takes a drag.]

AMES: "Because a sinister cabal of Israeli agents, Texans, and thirty-third degree freemasons, led by the brothers Charles and David Koch, has hijacked the spirit that was unleashed on Election Day, 2008, and derailed it.  That spirit of change has been perverted. The people no longer trust their government. They claim to be outraged by trifling inconveniences like, having to pass through a simple security scan or … a simple frisk and pat-down at the airport. …"

SCULLY: "I don't know that I'd call what happened to me on my flight to Wichita, the one when you sent me to look up the Koch Brothers' original birth certificates, a simple frisk. …"

AMES: "A simple frisk, that's all it was. A small price to pay for safety from the Mossad agents waiting to hijack that plane and fly it into some great symbol of American freedom, like the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms.  But the American people need to be told.  Consider …"

[AMES takes another drag on SCULLY's cigarette, then coughs softly into his hand.  After wiping the expectorate onto his pants leg, AMES continues.]

AMES: "The man who supposedly made this video, this "Don't Touch My Junk" story, who is he?  I'll tell you who he is. So far, all we know about "ordinary guy" John Tyner III, the alleged "freedom fighter" who took on TSA agents at the San Diego airport, is that, according to a friendly hometown profile in the San Diego Union-Tribune, he leans strongly libertarian and doesn't believe in voting. TSA security policy, he asserts 'isn't Republican and it isn't Democratic.'   That's what he says.  But Tyner attended private Christian schools in Southern California and lives in Oceanside, a Republican stronghold next to Camp Pendleton, the largest Marine Corps base on the West Coast."

SCULLY: "SPOOKY, I'm not sure …"

AMES: [shouting] "At least one local TSA administrator wondered if Tyner hadn't come to the airport prepared to create a scandal. Tyner switched on his recording device before even entering the checkpoint—and recorded himself as he refused to go through the body scanner. Most importantly, Tyner recorded himself saying, 'If you touch my junk, I'm gonna have you arrested!'—which quickly morphed on blogs into the more media-savvy tagline, 'Don't touch my junk!'"

[AMES begins tapping into his computer, as though looking for information. His computer beeps, and AMES reads, as SCULLY comes around the desk to read over AMES's shoulder.]

AMES: "Then there's Brian Sodergren, founder of the 'National Opt-Out Day,' when 'ordinary citizens standup for their rights.' But Sodergren is no 'ordinary citizen.' Cached and scrubbed online LinkedIn records show that Brian Sodergren is a Washington lobbyist specializing in “grassroots education” for the American Dental Association and ADPAC, the American Dental Association Political Action Committee. No wonder that Sodergren has gone out of his way to scrub his employment record!"

[AMES pauses to wipe a bead of spittle, or phegma, from the corner of his mouth.]

AMES: "Isn't it beginning to make sense?"

SCULLY: "AMES, you're venturing into dangerous territory."

AMES: "I'm not afraid for my safety.  The Truth Is Out There.  It's up to us to find it."

SCULLY: "I don't mean your physical safety.  I don't want to see what happened to Conason happen to you."

[AMES pulls back in his chair, stands up, and points a finger at SCULLY.]

AMES: "DON'T talk to ME about CONASON!  If it weren't for Conason, we'd never have known about Halliburton's plot to DRILL FOR OIL ON MARS! Conason saved this planet!"

SCULLY: "But even Glenn Greenwald …"

AMES: "Don't … mention … that … name … ever … again.  Glenn Greenwald is dead to me.  Glenn Greenwald is one of THEM."

[AMES pauses, and takes a deep breath.]

SCULLY: "AMES, I . . I just don't know. How do you really know that the people out there who are outraged by the TSA's new tactics are just astroturf?"

AMES: "It's the content of their comments, SCULLY. Look at it. It's just silly to get that upset over a minor security measure that the government thinks is necessary. Our government is honest."

SCULLY: "But wait a minute. Is the government's explanation to be trusted? Should we accept their assessment that the scans and patdowns are necessary, or effective?"

AMES: "Why not?"

SCULLY: "But I thought you've said that the Koch brothers have vast influence over the government."

AMES: [suspiciously] "What do you mean?"

SCULLY: "I mean, you're operating from the premise that there's this vast conspiracy driven by billionaires to advance the interests of conservatives and big corporations. We already know that the ramp-up in TSA security efforts started under a conservative Republican administration, that there's big money in security programs, and that big money has connections even in this administration. So how can we trust the government on this more than people criticizing the government?"

AMES: "Because there are wheels within wheels here, SCULLY."

SCULLY: "I don't think that actually means anything."

AMES: "Do the math."

SCULLY: "This isn't a mathematical problem, AMES. This is …"

AMES: "Here, the wheels are driven by the Koch conspiracy. It's driving people to object to the government doing things they'd normally put up with, without complaint."

SCULLY: "Is that even a bad thing? I mean, shouldn't people demand that the government provide real evidence to support a need to grope their genitals and breasts and take naked pictures of them?"

AMES: "No. All of that is standard. All of that is normal."

SCULLY: "Having your genitals and breasts felt up by strangers is normal?"

AMES: "Look, SCULLY, you don't judge my weekend, and I won't judge yours."

SCULLY: "AMES, you really think that ordinary people enjoy having the government taking naked scans of them, or want to have their genitals or breasts groped by government employees?"

AMES: [softly] "Erm."

SCULLY: "AMES, I know your heart is in the right place. But I think this time you've gone too far. I don't want to see them close the K-files down because you've breached The Nation's editorial standards."

AMES: "SCULLY, you're the skeptical, rational one in this relationship, right?"

SCULLY: "I hope so."

AMES: "What evidence do you have that The Nation has editorial standards?"

SCULLY: "The Nation is home to important voices … Katha Pollitt … um … fair point."

[AMES smiles, and crushes his cigarette in the ashtray.]

AMES: "Precisely.  So, you'll be flying to Moscow to interview Medvedev about Putin's connections to the Koch brothers.  I've already reserved your flight."

SCULLY: "I'm not sure I want to go through what I went through the last time I flew for you. In Wichita."

AMES: "Why you! … You won't kill this story! It'll bring me a Pulitzer. I can almost taste it. It tastes . . . like a bowl of warm, creamy horse semen. Wait a minute. Are those new shoes?"

SCULLY: "Uh . . . yes. They are."

AMES: "Those are Dolce and Gabbana. I'd know them anywhere."

SCULLY: ". . . yes. Yes, they are."

AMES: [Leaning forward, steepling his fingers, looking over his glasses] "So tell me, Scully. Tell me now. Where did you get the money for Dolce and Gabbana Shoes?"

SCULLY: ". . .I . . ."

AMES: [Really quite agitated now, with fleck of spittle flying from his mouth]: "You got it from THEM, didn't you? THEY gave it to you! THEY gave it to you as your thirty pieces of silver to betray ME!"

SCULLY: "Look, Spooky …"

AMES: "I CAN SMELL THE KOCH ON YOU, YOU GLIBERTARIAN ASTROTURF WHORE!!"

SCULLY: "Jesus Christ. You're a complete nutcase."

[Scully storms out.]

[AMES paces around the room, slamming his fist into his hand, wagging his finger in defiant fashion at the faces in his various posters, and mumbling to himself. Slowly, gradually, he calms. Eventually, he picks up a phone.]

AMES: "Uh, Katrina? Yeah, hi, it's Mark. No, Mark. Mark Ames. Look, I'm . . . I'm going to need another intern."

[FADE TO BLACK, CUE OMINOUS MUSIC.]

The American Bar Association has a White Collar Crime Committee. Nearly everyone who goes to ABA white collar crime events — defense lawyers, government lawyers, even judges — signs up for it. Everyone who signs up for it gives their email, not recognizing how that email will be used.

The American Bar Association's White Collar Crime Committee takes the emails of its members and adds them to a listserv, CJSWHITECOLLAR@MAIL.ABANET.ORG, without asking.

The listserv is hardly ever used. That's because (1) the white collar bar is less tech-savvy, on average, than the rest of the bar, probably because it trends somewhat older, and (2) listservs are archaic and annoying.

So when someone sends an email to the listserv — like last night, when a defense attorney (one who is apparently utterly unfamiliar with the Fifth Amendment as it applies to document production) asked a question — it generates a tragic series of events. I mean "tragic" in the classic sense of "fated, inevitable, but still sad and appalling":

1. There are two or three helpful responses.
2. Someone points out that there are federal prosecutors and judges on the listserv, so you shouldn't ask questions about what documents your client should produce in response to a subpoena.
3. Judges harumph that it is entirely inappropriate for them to be on the listserv.
4. Attorneys start replying with "please unsubscribe me from this listserv."
5. One or two attorneys, seeing the inevitability of what is happening but still feeling morally obligated to play the part of King Canute, Google the instructions on how to get off the listserv and send them to the listserv with simple, explicit instructions on how to use them.
6. The sorts of attorneys who check their emails once a day get into the office and start sending out replies asking what the fuck is going on.
7. Attorneys and judges, thinking they are clever, eschew replying and instead send new emails directly to the listserv email address asking to unsubscribe, not realizing that just sends their requests to the entire listserv.
8. Attorneys begin sending increasingly angry demands that people stop emailing to the entire listserv to the entire listserv.
9. Attorneys begin sending emails pointing out that unsubscribing through the listserv email address will not work, and pointing out that there were instructions back there 60 or 70 emails ago.
10. Attorneys begin sending complaints to the entire listserv about people sending complains to the entire listserv.
11. Attorneys begin attempts to capture attention by sending new instructions to the listserv on how to get off of the listserv, using increasingly all-caps and forceful email headings.
12. Attorneys, thinking they understand the listserv, begin sending emails to friends whose emails they've seen on the listserv, talking about how the other attorneys on the listserv are stupid, and wind up sending these emails to the entire listserv.

Somewhere on the East Coast, on the day before Thanksgiving, the phone is ringing off the hook as attorneys, judges, and their secretaries try to reach someone to tell them how to stop getting emails.

So. Good luck at your criminal trial, is what I'm saying.

[Edit: the eventual result: after perhaps 250 emails, someone at the ABA pulls the plug on the listserv. Expect a whiny ABA email explaining the listserv next week.]

[Edit on 12/9/10: I wish I could figure out why a bunch of people are visiting this post today, and from where.]

Yes, all of the security theater bothers me. No, I do not think it useful and I am thankful that I don't have any plans to fly in the near future. That said, I don't think I'd do what Matt from No Blasters! did to avoid the indignities of the backscatter machine or the enhanced rubdown to reenter the United States when returning from an international flight.

By asserting his constitutional rights (whatever those may be, and I doubt that the courts will agree that he has the rights he thinks he has) and calmly asking for supervisor after supervisor like he was complaining at a Waldbaum's that refused to accept a coupon, he was eventually escorted out of the airport without any more than a trip through the metal detector. The story is worth reading in its entirety to see what you have to endure to convince the TSA to give up on you but here is the conclusion:

In order to enter the USA, I was never touched, I was never “Backscatted,” and I was never metal detected. In the end, it took 2.5 hours, but I proved that it is possible. I’m looking forward to my next flight on Wednesday.

Two and a half hours? I'd let a government worker cup my balls without gloves to save that much time at the DMV.

I haven't played World of Warcraft since April (I prefer the lower investment Guild Wars), and don't plan to resume play with the upcoming expansion, but I've wasted a lot of time there and still have affection for this particular virtual world.

So it's worth noting that today (not December 7, when the expansion releases), all hell breaks loose in Azeroth.  A giant dragon is going to emerge from a volcano, eat everyone, and remake the world. But it will be a better world, without all of those broken, tedious quests that required you to jump from continent to continent and back, or to kill hundreds of monsters hoping one will finally drop page #15, rather than page #2 or page #24, of some stupid book that you can't even read.

I'll have to drop by the neighbor's house and see what else has changed tonight.

Via Kill Ten Rats.

I APPROACH YOU RESPECTFULLY FOR A BUSINESS ARRANGEMENT OF THE MOST IMPORTANT AND CONFIDENTIAL NATURE.

TRUSTED ASSOCIATES OF MINE HAVE ADVISED ME TO APPROACH YOU BASED ON THE GREAT PROBITY AND GOOD JUDGMENT YOU HAVE DEMONSTRATED IN SUCH FAMOUS BUSINESS TRANSACTIONS AS THE BAY OF PIGS AND OPERATION EAGLE CLAW, AS WELL AS YOUR CAPACITY FOR CARE AND PLANNING AS REFLECTED IN YOUR PURCHASE OF LARGE NUMBERS OF ROSE-PETAL-BROOMS FOR THE POST-INVASION PORTION OF THE LIBERATION OF IRAQ.

AS I HAVE NOW REPOSED TRUST IN THESE ASSOCIATES, I MUST NOW REPOSE IT IN YOU, DEAR SIRS, AND I BEG THAT YOU WILL BE WORTHY OF IT.

IN MY CAPACITY AS A HIGH TALIBAN COMMANDER AND LEADER OF THE AFGHANISTAN INSURGENCY, I HAVE COME INTO POSSESSION OF LARGE VOLUMES OF CRITICAL MILITARY INTELLIGENCE, AND MANY CONNECTIONS THAT MAY BE USED FOR A SWIFT AND BLOODLESS RESOLUTION OF SAID INSURGENCY. AS YOU KNOW, LIFE IS DANGEROUS AND DIFFICULT HERE, AND I SEEK TO ESCAPE AFGHANISTAN WITH THESE VALUABLE ASSETS INTACT. IN ORDER TO DO SO, I NOW SEEK TO ENTER INTO A CONFIDENTIAL BUSINESS ARRANGEMENT WITH INDIVIDUALS OF PROVEN ACUMEN SUCH AS YOURSELVES.

IF YOU BECOME MY PARTNER, I WILL NATURALLY WISH TO SHARE THE INTELLIGENCE ASSETS AND CONTACTS WITH YOU IN A GENEROUS AND FAIR MANNER. YOU WILL RECEIVE 50% OF THE ASSETS THAT I POSSESS, WHICH YOU MAY USE TO BRING A PAINLESS END TO THE DIFFICULTIES YOU ARE EXPERIENCING IN MY NATION. I IMPLORE YOU TO MOVE SWIFTLY; SOON THE WINTER SEASON WILL BE UPON US, WHICH BRINGS WITH IT BOTH SUBSTANTIAL BARRIERS TO MY TRAVEL AND YOUR MID-TERM ELECTIONS.

TO CONSUMMATE THIS BUSINESS TRANSACTION, ALL I WILL NEED IS A MODEST AMOUNT OF OPERATING CAPITAL TO ALLOW ME TO TRAVEL AND BRING YOU THE INTELLIGENCE AND USE MY CONTACTS ON YOUR BEHALF. TO RECEIVE YOUR VAST SHARE OF THESE VALUABLES, PLEASE OPEN A NUMBERED SWISS ACCOUNT AND CONVEY THE DATA TO ME, AND THEN BEGIN PERIODIC CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE ACCOUNT. DIRECT DEPOSIT WOULD BE NICE, BUT IN A PINCH I WOULD ALSO BE ABLE TO USE CASH TO ACCOMPLISH OUR MUTUAL GOALS. I WILL THEN DEPOSIT THE VALUABLE INTELLIGENCE AND CONTACTS INTO THE ACCOUNT.

I MUST INFORM YOU THAT IT IS POSSIBLE THAT VARIOUS OFFICIALS AND TALIBAN MEMBERS AND JOURNALISTS AND OTHERS IN AFGHANISTAN WILL TELL YOU THAT THEY DO NOT RECOGNIZE ME AND THAT I AM NOT MULLAH AKHTAR MUHAMMAD MANSOUR BUT AN IMPOSTOR AND THAT I WILL ONLY STEAL YOUR MONEY AND POSSIBLY SELL INFORMATION FROM CONFIDENTIAL PEACE TALKS TO MALEVOLENT THIRD PARTIES AND THAT I AM A SECURITY RISK AND THAT YOU ARE STUPID GULLIBLE MOTHERFUCKERS. I IMPLORE YOU TO ACCEPT THAT THESE PEOPLE ARE ALL EITHER MY TRUSTED ASSOCIATES, PARTICIPATING IN THE DECEPTION THAT WILL KEEP OUR CONFIDENTIAL BUSINESS ARRANGEMENT A SECRET, OR THEY ARE ENEMIES OF AMERICA WHO WILL KILL YOUR CHILDREN. EITHER WAY, I IMPLORE YOU TO TAKE ALL STEPS TO KEEP MY PARTICIPATION AND MY IDENTITY A SECRET AND NOT DIVULGE IT, OR TAKE STEPS TO ATTEMPT TO VERIFY IT, WITH THIRD PARTIES.

I EAGERLY AWAIT THE FIRST TRANSACTIONS BETWEEN US. THIS LOOKS LIKE THE BEGINNING OF A BEAUTIFUL FRIENDSHIP.

I REMAIN YOURS,

Mullah Akhtar Muhammad Mansour.

(Via.)

Last week, in the flurry of writing about TSA issues, I coined a decent, if not great, satirical slogan for the agency ("Don't worry, my hands are still warm from the last guy."). I posted it here and on Twitter.

Last night, one of my partners — the oldest and probably the least tech-savvy — forwarded an email to the whole firm. He'd gotten it from a friend, who'd gotten it from a friend, and so on. The email was a list of satirical TSA slogans. My slogan was on it.

It felt . . . odd.

We have cleaned up our blogroll.  Some sites have new addresses.  Some sites moved without telling us, and have been updated.  Some are no longer with us.  And some sites have simply been removed.

Trust me.  The problem wasn't you.  It was us.