Playing it both ways

Yale Law Professor Peter Schuck, author of Agent Orange on Trial, recently weighed in on the issue of universities (such as Yale) refusing to let military recruiters on campus because of the "don't ask don't tell" policy with gays in the military.

Through his arguments, Schuck says that Law School opponents of the Defense Department's recruitment policy have been acting in a contradictory manner. The Law School itself discriminates against white and Asian applicants through the affirmative action process, he said.

"It seems odd for the schools to insist that they may define merit in a way that disadvantages white, Asian and indeed straight applicants (if schools deem other minorities or gays 'diversity enhancing') but that the military may not define merit in a way that disadvantages gays," Schuck writes in his article.

Another irony Schuck presents is that those same faculty members who filed suit against the Department of Defense do not oppose the federal government's power to cut off funding from a university that itself discriminated, citing a case involving Bob Jones University in which law schools publicly opposed the government's subsidization of an institution that discriminated against blacks.

Schuck stresses in his article that he favors barring discrimination against gays and protecting academic autonomy, but that students themselves should be able to decide if they want to enter the military.

"We should not reward or punish the choices of our students but encourage them to make their own moral choices as informed as they can be by us," Schuck said.

Thanks again to Glenn Reynolds at Instapundit for this one.

Conspiracy theory

Earlier this week CNN.com reported about Ahmed Omar Abu Ali, and American arrested in Saudi Arabia who allegedly attempted to assassinate President Bush. I’m sure there’s a lot of people in this country who wouldn’t mind doing the job, but the point is that he actually tried to make it happen. He also apparently has ties to Al Qaeda, which isn’t good news for his defense attorney. Anyway, this article went on to report all the specifics of the case, but all the major news agencies ignored a crucial fact revealed by the court sketch artist’s rendition of Mr. Abu Ali:



It’s actually Fidel Castro! I’d recognize that beard and olive green ensemble anywhere. There must be some grand conspiracy to cover this up, because it’s pretty obvious.

The last thing they ever did

This one is scary. CNN.com reported on a vacationing couple that took pictures of the tsunami just before it smashed onto the beach and killed them. The pictures are pretty impressive, but in the back of my mind I keep thinking, "Why are you fools still standing on the beach at this point?"

Thanks to Glenn Reynolds at Instapundit for the link.

Freaks

Hey everyone, remember high school? You know, that dismal experience that was only tolerable because you just got out of middle school, and things couldn't get any worse? Well, I'm probably joking there—I enjoyed my high school experience for the most part—but it certainly wasn’t the paragon of social parity. In my high school, as I suspect is true in most of your high schools, there were a variety of “groups.” Although they weren’t as exclusive as they seem to be in some high schools, the groups fell into some basic categories. Football players, people in the marching band, etc. Perhaps lowest on the imaginary social totem pole were the freaks. You know what I mean, don’t you? The kids who decided they wanted to be Marilynn Manson when they grew up. All black clothes, long hair of various colors, chains and dog collars, etc. Those kids who just screamed for attention and decided to be weird because they only felt accepted by the unaccepted. It always seemed like a pathetic attempt to be unique, because in trying to be different they all ended up looking the same.

Anyway, I had a revelation of sorts while walking through the Wilk the other day. At one of the tables in the upper level there were several Mediaeval Club folk sitting around. You know that kind too—capes, scraggly facial hair, funny caps and bonnet-type things, homemade shirts, etc. Well, sitting with them at a table was a Goth girl. Now this was surprising in and of itself because the Goth thing really isn’t really à la mode any more, and strange styles aren’t very common at BYU. So I was looking at Goth girl and ye olde company, when it hit me: the Mediaeval Club people are BYU’s version of the Goths in high school. Think about it: they’re both pitiful pleas for attention disguised as the vain attempt at being different. They’re both widely mocked, but the movement stays strong. They attract the strangest of people, thereby reinforcing their mental illness rather than making them more mainstream and (dare I say) normal. The only difference is that the football team here doesn’t beat up the Quill and the Scroll in the hallways.

The real social security

The other day The Redhead remarked how fun it was to have me as a boyfriend. But before I could get too flattered, she said, “It was just nice to have a boyfriend.” Well wait a minute, I thought, did you like me or did you just like having a boyfriend? “What about having a husband?” I asked in a blatant plea for validation. “Oh, yeah,” she said offhandedly, “but having a boyfriend is fun. You have someone to go to football games with and to watch movies with and to hang out with. You never get stuck without a date, and you always have someone to cuddle with.” Don’t get me wrong, she still likes me and all, but apparently she liked me better as a boyfriend. :-) I suddenly found myself relegated to the level a purse or necklace—a convenient accessory, but nothing to which you would really become attached.

Many times I’ve heard my friends of the female persuasion lament that they had no boyfriend, but very rarely do I ever hear them have someone specific in mind. They don’t really want someone, they just want anyone. Never mind that I would be branded as shallow or callous if I were to express a desire for a similar bit of “arm candy.” They want a boy toy for their convenience, and that’s not shallow at all. In fact, I think lots of girls are more in love with the idea of love than they are with a particular person. For me, the whole point of the game is when you find that specific person to whom you attach those feelings. For girls, it seems they’ve been looking for years, and they finally find someone they’ll settle on. Now that’s a flattering thought. “Congratulations, you’re good enough for now. Wanna be my boyfriend?”

In fact, that rubbish they’re discussing in Washington right now is really a misnomer—the boyfriend as an institution is the real social security. He’ll drive you around, buy you flowers, keep you safe, and all you have to do is treat him okay. He’s basically a puppy. And as long as you still think he’s cute and don’t mind when he makes a mess, he’s your social security. But when he gets old, and not so cute anymore, you can just cast him off. Heck, boyfriends are easier to get rid of than dogs—they don’t even require euthanasia.

Time to go

I’ve been thinking about leaving the 100 Hour Board lately. Not that my zeal for writing or my loyalty to the Board has waned; on the contrary, I think I spend more of my time doing Board related things than ever before. I’ve just been thinking about the road ahead, and it inevitably will involve my withdrawal from that most splendid of online institutions. You can’t stay at BYU forever, though many a Super Senior has made a valiant attempt. In my case, the real world is fast coming up to meet me. Maybe it was all brought home this last week as The Redhead and I researched prices for renting a moving van. That was when it really hit me: we’re going. We are packin’ up and movin’ out, and will probably not see our friends here for quite some time. Not only is it a scary (and expensive) proposition, it’s a big change. I’m simultaneously reluctant and eager to get it over with, so I’m wondering if I should just make the jump now. Or maybe soon. I’m not entirely sure that I’ll be missed, anyway. The Board is bigger and larger than any one person. Ambrosia could leave and the Board would continue. I know this because it already happened, although we are certainly glad she’s back. But I am definitely no Ambrosia; I’ve never commanded such a following or drawn such praise as the Board big-namers. Maybe it’s just not my style—I just write, answer questions, do my thing, and that’s it. Maybe I don’t merit anything more than curious interest—I certainly don’t think I do. My answers aren’t especially brilliant. I’d like to think they reach the funny stage on occasion, but they’re mostly just answers. What gives me the idea that anybody should think otherwise?

The first time I started thinking about leaving was when Balthazar left. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say a word about him since then, but I sure miss the guy. I miss the Keeper and Saurus and Othello and She Who Must Not Be Named and PEZkopf. Perhaps even more than that, I miss the days when people would actually recognize those names. The other day one of the writers asked who the Mighty Quinn was, and I almost fell off my chair. Have we lost our roots? But I guess it’s part of the natural process of infusing new blood into an ever-growing system. I like the new blood okay, for the most part. They’re perfectly capable of carrying on. So maybe it is time for me to move out. I’m not submitting my letter of resignation or anything. I’m just thinking about my exit strategy. That strategy probably involves me riding silently off into the sunset, which is fine with me. I’ll have the memories—and what memories they are. Who could forget the stairs question? Or PEZkopf’s continual encouragement to drop your girlfriend and go buy a PS2? Or the Captain’s vicious yet intelligent anti-liberal tirades? Or Misaneroth’s wildly hilarious humor that is above the intellect of most readers? The memories make it all worthwhile.

The theater

Leibniz's blog reminded me of an answer I gave on the 100 Hour Board last June. I had a bad (yet humorous) experience at the Capitol Theater, and since I didn't have a blog then, had someone ask me a question so I could answer it on the Board. Now that I have my own private venue to spew my opinions, I don't need to do that, and I thought it would be fun to see what I wrote back then.:

It's time for one of my rant/rave sessions in which I launch into several topics. What can I say? It’s one of the perks of actually writing for the board that you can vent on your pet peeves. I’m just going to spout off lots of my opinions, and I’m not really serious with most of it, although the underlying message is indeed true. So just take it with a grain of salt.

I went to the theater this week to see “Phantom of the Opera.” It was fun, the music was nice, and I sincerely enjoyed the experience. However, while attending the performance I developed a list of rules to remember when going to the theater. I was abruptly reminded of these rules when people around me flagrantly violated them during the course of the evening.

Rule 1: When at the theater, do not wear blue jeans. In fact, any sort of denim at all should be avoided, even jean skirts in my opinion. While a jacket may not be necessary, you shouldn’t look like my punk kid brother when you walk into a theater. You are spending in excess of seventy dollars just to be there, so take the extra time and change into some nicer clothes. Who knows, you might be mistaken for an intelligent person.

Rule 2: Talking during a play is rude. Talking loudly is even ruder. Talking so loudly that people five rows in front of you can hear is almost a hangable offense. Some people at the performance were lucky I didn’t have any rope on hand.

Rule 3: Don’t take your kids to see a show just because it would be a good experience for them. Rent the movie, or better yet, make them read the book. That might help cure them of the intense attention deficient disorder you have instilled in them since birth. Teenagers will probably be civil during the play, but not obnoxious 11-year-olds. Especially ones who insist on talking. (“What’s going on now, Mom? I don’t get it.”) This same demographic usually violates Rules 1, 2, and 3.

Rule 4: For heaven’s sake, turn your bloody cell phone off!! When your cell phone rings on full volume in the middle of the solo and they have clearly requested all audience members to turn off all phones and sound-making devices, your life is forfeit and you may be shot on the spot. If you are like the person at my performance and you take your sweet time turning the ring off, your family may be sold into indentured servitude to forgive the debt you thus owe to society.

Rule 5: Do not sing along with the music. I go to a musical to hear professionals perform. I do NOT want to hear you in accompaniment. If I wanted to hear you wailing voice I will go to your high-school recital. If you want to sing along to a concert, attend the annual performance of Handel’s Messiah with the Utah Symphony and you can join in the chorus. Another option that is more on the intellect level of the public would be to stick in a video of Disney’s Sing-along-songs. But please, spare me the agony.

There, I said it. Whew. I feel much better. I will now dismount my soap box.

Moral qualm

The 100 Hour Board chat site, what I sometimes call the "Off Board," has had some really great discussions lately. Truly worthy of thought. The string I started was the most interesting to me because I got to see how other people deal with a dilemma I'm facing. It's my dilemma with downloading music, books, programs, etc. Even though I still kinda think it's wrong, I haven't entirely stopped doing it.

I remember my freshman year when my roomie showed me how you could download songs. I remember being flabbergasted. "Music!? For FREE?!? How cool is that?" And then a friend from back home told me about this strange new program called "Napster," and after getting a gullible friend to download it first (to see if it had viruses, without risking my own computer) I downloaded as fast as I could burn to CD. It was glorious.

My initial glee in downloading music stemmed primarily from the fact that the recording labels had gotten fat and lazy. When Napster got big, I hadn't purchased a new CD in years because they were too expensive. $20 for two hits doesn't strike me as a deal, and the average starving student doesn't have that much cash to shell out every time a nice new single comes out. So I had trolled the used CD stores for years, getting bargains where I could. The precursor to downloading, of course, was burning. I remember collecting a bunch of CD's from my friends and burning all my favorite tracks onto one great CD. I didn't feel bad about it at all then. I hardly felt bad about it when Napster was new. But somewhere between then and now it became an issue of honesty, and that's a lot harder to rationalize. I've stopped downloading music, but I just downloaded some cool books, and the dilemma is back. Mind you, several of the books are way past copyright, but some of them are quite recent and quite protected. So what do I do now?

Well, if I was looking for someone to urge me to suck it up and do the right thing, I apparently went to the wrong place, because everyone on the Off Board insisted that the recording labels were fat and lazy and that downloading didn't hurt the artists at all. Of course, their responses were more intelligent than that, but I didn't get too much encouragement to cease my activities. So I guess I'll continue on. But as a believer in (and a future advocate of) the law, I'll have to stop sometime. It's just a matter of when.

Absolutely atrocious

The Redhead and I got back from Salt Lake City this afternoon after spending the morning up there with some friends. We sat down to have lunch, and The Redhead turned on the TV. TBS was having a Valentine’s Day marathon, with chick flicks until Tuesday of next week, so we flipped to TNT. There’s always a movie or Law & Order on TNT, and I like both of those things. There was an action flick on called The Long Kiss Goodnight, and as I sat there and watched the last hour or so, I could not believe how terrible it was. It was truly the worst movie I have seen in years, and possibly the worst movie I have ever seen. I get the feeling that it didn’t stay in the theaters long, so I doubt most of you have heard of it or seen it. Be thankful, if this is the case. I have never been so unattached to characters—I really didn’t care who won or who died. It included almost every single action flick cliché, including massive explosions and the heroes were unhurt and extremely lame one-liners. Geena Davis played the main female lead, and this movie may be the reason I haven’t seen her in a film since. She plays the world’s stupidest mom trying to save her daughter from “the bad guys,” and truly, she and her daughter deserved to die in this movie. They were that dumb. Actually, the little girl who played her daughter was a pretty terrible actress too. Child actors are different than adults, but this little girl was extremely unbelievable and annoying. I have seen better acting in high school plays. Samuel L. Jackson also had the bad fortune to play in The Long Kiss Goodnight. His character got blown out of a building through a road sign and into a tree, and later got shot in the chest several times, but he still somehow managed to sneak into a car and drive up at the last minute to save Ms. Davis and her very annoying daughter. Fortunately, Mr. Jackson has done better in recent years and no longer needs to appear in random terrible B-class action flicks. Oh, wait, wasn’t he in Deep Blue Sea?

Vanity

I am an incredibly vain person. I know most people think Skippy has a monopoly on the Board when it comes to this fine art, but I really am a very vain person. I spent part of Sunday afternoon organizing my shoes according to how often I use them. The hiking boots and the flip-flops went in the back, but this will necessitate a rearrangement come Spring. A coworker of mine was extolling the virtues of zipper ties, and I said I didn’t like them because they didn’t allow me to adjust my tie length and know thickness according to what pants and shirt I am wearing, or if I am wearing a suit. He looked at me like I was a freak, which was probably an accurate assessment. I actually owned more than 30 pairs of shoes at one time, although the current number is much lower. But that is more a product of my income rather than my footwear preferences.

One of the problems I have with being so vain is that I simply don’t have the money to support my preferences. I remember walking past a Burburry store up on K Street in D.C. and coveting some of the items in the window. However, I didn’t have $900 to spend on a 10-ply cashmere sweater at the time, nor do I budget $2,500 for new suits. The Redhead, although not nearly as vain as I am, nonetheless has very exacting tastes of style and clothing. She has on more than one occasion complained that she is so picky. She thinks it would be more convenient to not have as good a taste in clothes so that she could buy stuff from any ol’ store. I disagree with her; I think the solution is for us to get filthy stinking rich, so money isn’t a problem. Some people have drug and alcohol addictions; we have dependencies on computer games and clothes. That’s just pitiful.

Irony

Irony is a truly delicious treat in life, but it is enjoyed by very few people. When one of my pompous bosses in a previous job would tell be what I was doing wrong, he of course completely ignored the fact that he was essentially articulating every flaw he himself possessed. The irony of his projection those undesirable traits on me was almost too much for me to keep a strait face. Apart from getting me into trouble sometimes because I laugh at inopportune moments, I enjoy seeing the irony in life. One of my favorite bits of irony was pointed out to me by a professor a while back. He explained how Ralph Nader and other consumer advocates had been lobbying for years for children under two years old to have to sit in safety seats in airplanes. This sounds great on the surface, but as soon as you start looking in deeper, it becomes absurd. First of all, no safety seat in the world is going to protect your child when the aircraft enters the ocean at 500 mph. You’re toast; admit it. But the unintended consequences of such an action are the truly ironic part. If children under two have to have safety seats, they have to have their own ticket rather than sit in their parents’ laps. This makes air travel more expensive for families, which has been proven to deter air travel. Thus, more children will be traveling long distances in cars, which is statistically much more dangerous than flying in a commercial aircraft. The result of requiring safety seats would literally result in more deaths of infants in car crashes. I hope Nader can see the irony of the argument.

Random Facts

I haven't blogged in a while, and I'm really busy with some projects, so it'll be a while longer. Here's a list of fun fandom facts, as reported in The Washington Post Express.

• The U.S. had a 49-year lease for its ambassador's residence in Moscow. Due to the devaluation of the ruble, by the time the U.S. and Russia renegotiated a new lease in late 2004 the yearly rent was just three dollars.

• A pet parrot turned in three thieves in Memphis after they broke into a home and stole electronic equipment. The parrot heard one of the thieves say the name of one of his accomplices and started repeating the name. The burglars left, but after hearing the parrot repeating the name they went back in to get the parrot too. Unfortunately for them, the police arrived while they were loading the parrot into the car.

• Walmart has more than 460 terabytes of data stored about their company and sales-related information. That is more than twice the total amount of information on the entire Internet.

• The Himalayan kingdom of Bhutan has banned all sale of tobacco and its use in public. I suddenly want to visit this little nation.

• A man named Walter Cavanagh holds the Guinness Record for credit cards: he has 1,497 valid credit cards, totaling about $1.7 million in available credit.

The world

I think this is hilarious. It's funny becaue it's true.

Completely mockable

Just so you can get the full effect of the humor in this situation, go to the following links in order.

First, go here.

Then go to this article.

Then, as a final funny touch, go here.

Is that not the most laughable and feeble attempt at publicity you have ever seen in your life? I mean, besides Paris Hilton. The split in Islam between the mainstream/moderate followers and the radical factions has already been extremely divisive worldwide. Thousands of angry young Muslim men have flocked to these extremist camps. But you have to question their sanity when you see their tactics. You are supposedly fighting for the cause of the Almighty by playing with dolls? The other insurgents ought to bomb the fools responsible for this trick, because they have single-handedly invalidated a cause already on shaky moral and religious ground.

Blogworthy

Every once in a while I see something on the news or I have something happen to me and I know it’s going to end up in my blog. Sometimes life’s delicious little ironies are simply too choice to not mention. Yesterday was one of those days as I logged onto CNN and saw the report of Senator Hillary Clinton passing out at luncheon speech. There are very few people in this world that I enjoy making fun of more than Senator Clinton, so this was a special treat for me.

I’ve always had issues with Hillary Clinton. When she was First Lady and tried to pass herself off as a veteran lawmaker, I think it was foolish. Indeed, until the 1994 congressional elections, she and Bill tried to sell themselves as two-for-the-price-of-one. This was fairly arrogant, considering they wouldn’t have even been living in the White House at the time if it hadn’t been for an ambitious Texan by the name of H. Ross Perot. But once the Republican Party took a large majority in 1994, I thought we had heard the last of her ambition.

Hooo, was I wrong. I was born in New York, and though I will probably never live there again, I was irked when she exploited the legal loophole that let her move in 30 days before the election and catch one of the choice Senate seats in the nation. I was even more annoyed when a series of extremely unfortunate events handed her the win, including Rudy Giuliani’s messy divorce and cancer diagnosis that forced him to drop out of the race. (I still think it’s a shame; I wanted to see him whup that wench.)

But I started enjoying making fun of Hillary even more when I started working for a guy that is a huge Hillary Clinton fan. He contributes to her campaign, he buys her t-shirts, and he reads her books. What drives me absolutely up the wall is the fact that he really doesn’t know anything about her. He’s from Idaho, not New York. He disagrees with her on every benchmark social issue. He just likes the image. So I take every chance to remind my employer of the foolishness of his position.

Yesterday I saw the report of Senator Clinton passing out, and immediately ran to make fun of my supervisor. He anticipated my coming, and said, “She’s fine, she went to her next appointment.” I then showed him the picture on CNN.com and said, “You call that ‘fine’? “

In the words of The Redhead, “No wonder Bill cheated on her.” She was kidding, of course, but dang. That is one ugly woman.