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Must. Contain. Myself. (why the fuck does Jenn send me these links? Satire? Or not? Want to wage a guess?) The Fellowship Baptist Creation Science Fair is a fair that promotes children’s interest in science from a Creationist perspective. Sounds great, doesn’t it? Of course, I thought, nodding happily along, we must include all views […]

Thanks to all those coming in via Alas, A Blog (thanks for blogrolling me, Amp) and Pharyngula. And, as usual, hello to everybody reading offsite at the LJ feminist forums and friends’ lists. Good to have you here.

Had a nightmare last night that Yellow found this blog. Really must rein in my work posts. I have a history of prescient dreaming.

I’ve been keeping up with Jeff Jarvis over at buzzmachine and his research into complaints about television programming, FCC censorship, and the like. What’s interested me about it is just how few crazies it takes to freak out networks, sponsers, and get television shows slapped with FCC fines. Just how few does it take? In

John Rickards, “making a shameless bid for linkage again” posted some thoughts on why writers write. Being someone who makes a living writing crime novels, he went straight for the jugular: To quote ‘Fight Club’, “You’re not your job”. And that, when it comes down to it, is what writing professionally is. It’s a job.

I was channel surfing last night and saw a familiar-looking room getting decorated for the holidays. I paused and realized where it was — First Lady Laura Bush appeared on screen looking perfectly coiffed and dainty, hands folded demurely in her lap. Ah. Yes. The Lady’s House. I had found HGTV’s special on the decorating

Breaks my damn heart. (via Empire o’ Dirt)

Is a damn non-stick wok. There’s enough chicken satay on the bottom of this thing to feed a small midwestern town. Anyway. My photo page is up. Proof of my life-long debauchery. I’ll be ranting about Laura Bush & Yuletide cheer tomorrow. Stay tuned. In the meantime, here’s my very late build-your-own-superhero: Perfect.

[Spoilers] Million Dollar Baby Clint Eastwood is an old, cynical man. Don’t expect this to be a happy movie. And if you walk in wanting this to be about the fighter, you’ll likely be disappointed. Swank does a great job, but this is definately about the old guys and their issues. The first 3/4 are

So, before the holiday party, Blaine took me aside in his office and closed the door, which I knew meant that we were going to talk about the restructuring of my role in the office. “You’ve heard we’re going to be getting a lot of work?” he said. “Yea,” I said. “Mosh already talked to