I’ve been meaning for years to delve into the Alan Sokal affair, but for some reason today really was the day. Too funny. Nothing’s more enjoyable than a bunch of postmodernists with their panties in a refracted-hyperspace wad.
Nasty-bad censorship effort underway in Australia, as the government there refuses even to say what it is they’re censoring. (They do this to keep all the US leftists I know from moving there in disgust with our own regime.)
Okay, who’s the dingbat stringer in Seattle? To read this fifth-grade-book-report-quality piece from Reuters, you’d think no one had ever threatened suicide online, or been saved by someone who saw the threat in a discussion group. A little research, a little Googling, or a memory longer than that of a goldfish would’ve shown the writer that this was in fact Not So — hell, this doesn’t even set a distance record. I sense that the next wave of know-nothing Net journalists is upon us. Ptui.
You’re totally high if you’re under 40 and think you’re getting any Social Security. Still, we have grandparents who have earned it and parents who may not have earned it but will otherwise drain our savings dry, so do the right thing and protect those funds from Dubya.
Ali Hoffman’s backpack is getting lighter and we’re happy about that, but it must be noted that whatever’s in those heavy textbooks is obviously having a good effect to produce a quote like this.
I’m blue (da ba dee dow dow dow dow)…
Jerry Falwell — yes, he’s flapping his yap again — has concluded from “reading Muslim and non-Muslim writers” that Muhammed was a terrorist. Which is kind of interesting, because from reading interviews with Jerry Falwell a lot of people have concluded that Jesus was a redneck, right-wing bigot. Holy men: Great ideas, bad PR representation. (UPDATE 12 Oct 02: And now some people are dead because of this. Falwell, shitbird — simple. I’d give a great deal to be a fly on the wall when this one goes to his infernal reward. If God has half the sense of humor one hears rumored, it’ll involve tongue-washing the Devil’s bidet.)
For the past XX years, my career goal has been to make technology interesting and accessible to non-geeks. Today, my children, I have succeeded in my quest: My editor wants to know why a story about Kevin Mitnick belongs in the tech section. I don’t know whether to laugh, or cry, or chuck this journalism schtick and become a barista. Screw the Pulitzer. I don’t think I can aspire to a greater achievement than this.
This is what happens when columnists get giddy.
Danish researchers have announced that not only should you not spank kids, you mustn’t scold them either. That might harm them. Of course, on the Upper East Side we’re well ahead of the curve and one sees this kinder, gentler parenting constantly — you’re in a restaurant, little Grayson or Lilibet is running around throwing food and assaulting other patrons, and Mumsie or Pa-Pa looks up periodically from the mobile phone to murmur “Darling, no, mustn’t do that, please.” The success of this approach to raising Manhattan’s children is well documented. (Translation for the sarcasm-deficient: Give me a fucking break, and spare me the scions of this kind of broke-ass wussy upbringing. I have met the adult results of this puddinheaded nonsense and without fail they have a knack for inciting coworkers and classmates to want to give them a long-overdue smackdown. In saner news, turns out that high self-esteem ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Quick, tell the Danes!)