Another slow week, unfortunately. This massive appellate brief still looms. It's been had to get any real work done on it with the move. Fortunately that's mostly done. We brought in a swarm of older kids and their friends and emptied the old office out and dragged everything up a few stories to the new office over the course of four hours on Friday. It was an impressive logistical achievement. Now we have internet and phones. Everything else is minor by comparison. It's good to have a new office; my old one was getting unmanageable from the mess.
So I'm afraid I have nothing but links for you today. Next week things should improve. In the meantime:
GeekDad raises, in the context of Orson Scott Card's latest anti-gay screed, the eternal question of separating the art from the artist. I won't read Card. But I love Wagner. Go figure. By the way, I like GeekDad's suggestion of using Sean Connery as a baseline for jackassery and thus a unit of magnitude. Card is at least a kiloconnery.
Is the original underwater sculpture the art, or is the art the result once stuff grows on it? I thought mollusks were non-artistic.
If Robin only got to be at the Batcave every other weekend, Batman might get temperamental. "Just tell me! Is she seeing Superman? Stop crying!"
If the cops flipped over this silly game, imagine what they would have done if the protesters had been playing that Steve Jackson Games classic "nuclear war."
Fantasies, particularly of the adolescent sort, usually involve two improbably matched people getting together — to wit, you and somebody famous and/or unattainable. Fantasy is distinct from fanfiction, in which two imaginary people — neither of which is you — meet and find each other irresistible. But why is it always two guys? I don't get that. Are the heterosexual fanfiction writers all doing Cinemax movies or something? And why hasn't anyone done a Dr. Doom/Darth Vader matchup?
Mental Floss has five famous (or infamous) exhumations, plus proof that Juan Peron's third wife had the patience of a saint:
The body [of Eva Peron] was exhumed and returned to an elderly Juan Perón, who was living in exile outside of Madrid, Spain. For two years, he kept the coffin in his home, where he was living with his third wife,
And you think your wife nags you to take the trash out.
Last 5 posts by Ken White
- Popehat Goes To The Opera: Un ballo in maschera - August 19th, 2017
- Department of Justice Uses Search Warrant To Get Data On Visitors to Anti-Trump Site - August 14th, 2017
- America At The End of All Hypotheticals - August 14th, 2017
- Lawsplainer: Why John Oliver Is Anti-Diversity Now - August 11th, 2017
- Anatomy of a Scam, Chapter 15: The Wheels, They Grind - August 10th, 2017