Said with mild irony, perhaps casual disdain:

How foolish to want what I want and still think it can work.

…

From an article on class differences in child-rearing:

“Hunting for balls is a routine part of Harold’s leisure time.”

Quite.

Whinge, whinge, bitch, moan, whine. Self-pitying rhetorical question? Grumble.

I just got an unsolicited email from an escort. Judging by his photo, I’m sure he’d be well worth the money, but no. Still, aren’t they supposed to at least pretend to be clandestine?

Get ready to be giddy:

(Stolen from Videogum.)

The state of Wisconsin has, it seems, mandated a new sex education program that includes instruction about the efficacy and use of contraceptives. A Republican DA says this is criminal, contributing to the delinquency of minors:

“Forcing our schools to instruct children on how to utilize contraceptives encourages our children to engage in sexual behavior, whether as a victim or an offender,” he wrote. “It is akin to teaching children about alcohol use, then instructing them on how to make mixed alcoholic drinks.”

Much better to leave them to their own devices. If the kids should chug a cocktail of gin and turpentine, hey, no blood on his hands!

I was going to write something, but Amanda Marcotte has already done it betterly.

Summarizing (with a big debt to Pam Spaulding): Remember the teen lesbian in Mississippi who wanted to go to her prom in a tux and with her girlfriend? And then the school cancelled the prom, because they’re bigoted asshats? And then the big mean federal court smacked down the school and said the prom must go on?

Well, the prom went on, but only seven people (teen lesbian and date included) showed up, because all of the scions of Asshatville were all at an invitation-only private secret prom paid for by asshats peres et meres. And, verily, word of this got out, and liberal blogs were calling out the asshats of Asshatville for being such asshats.

And so here’s the remarkable thing, bigoted asshats in small Mississippi towns being par for the course: Members of the senior class under scrutiny, two young women who attended the super-secret private prom, popped up in blog comments to discuss their plight. Yes, their own lily-white het Christian plight. They wanted the sympathy they deserved for being pilloried as incredible bigots just because they were being incredibly bigoted.

No, really.

They were the real victims here. They really believe that. They believe they’re justified in having hard feelings toward teen lesbian, because teen lesbian got their prom canceled and all. Why oh why, they ask, couldn’t she have just kept in her place and planned to stay home?

This is an entire community behaving like an abusive parent or partner. When you run out of real or perceived or imaginary slights to blame on your victim, you can always blame the victim for being a victim. Then you can get righteously indignant and, if ever called on your shit, demand sympathy for having been made to punch them.

I don’t follow gossip at all, but some are omnipresent and unavoidable. It has recently come to my attention that Sandra Bullock is getting divorced from Jesse James. And there were Nazi strippers involved, or something?

What’s shocking, stunning, amazing about this is that it implies Sandra “America’s Sweetheart” Bullock was actually married to Jesse “West Coast Choppers” James. That’s like a peanut butter and ham sandwich.

The other shocking, stunning, amazing thing about this is that a lot of pundits are using the occasion to write about how women can’t expect to both find romantic fulfillment and pursue a successful, competitive career. That’s bullshit, of course, but what’s bullshittiest about it is the fact that they have to pretend that their sample case could have made sense in any rational universe.

The Nazi strippers (or whatever) is at best the proximate cause of the divorce. The ultimate cause is the fact that the spouses were Sandra Bullock and Jesse James. More need not be said.

In Wal-Mart last night, congestion in the aisles left me contemplating an endcap display of plastic Easter eggs.

My understanding of these things–this was not a tradition in my family–is that they are stuffed with candy or cash and hidden as special prizes along with the standard dyed, hard-boiled eggs. There are the standard brightly colored ones, and the fancier ones with designs and pictures of cartoon characters and such.

And, this year, there are camouflage eggs.

Eggs that are specifically designed to let parents make their kids treats as unfindable as is humanly possible. That’s, just, wow.