Silflay Hraka

8/17/2002





Letters, We get letters!

David Brin will tell you that there's no privacy anymore, that if someone wants to know something about you, they can find it out. They can do that because we leak information out into the world every day, data that streams out behind us as we move through the world like the streamer on a kite. Everybody has a data tail. If you leave your cell phone on, the police can track you. If the police can do it, it's only a matter of time before someone else decides to. Who do you know that would be interested in a map of your daily movements? I would buy one of mine just to see what it looks like, but there will be a lot of people who would buy one for less benign reasons. Everytime you interact with an electronic system another piece of data goes flying off downwind, adding to the tail. All you need to lose part of your privacy is for someone to become interested in your data-tail. And now, jaryan AT uwo.ca, you've attracted my attention.

From: jaryan AT uwo.ca
To: bigwig AT nc.rr.com
Sent: Saturday, August 17, 2002 10:51 PM
Subject: newspaper?


Hi, Bigwig,
So, which newspaper can I trust to give me plenty of news without the shameless commie pomo twist? Washington Times? Please advise this naive ex-moron.
Jim

Hi Dr. Ryan,

Surely they have papers in Western Ontario. Have you tried the London Free Press? I don't normally read the Washington Times, as I don't feel like aiding and abetting the Moonies. Most of my news comes from the NYT, the Raleigh News & Observer, NPR, and the Internet. The more sources I have, the better feel for a story I eventually get. I can usually count on bloggers to provide or find the rightist or libertarian slant on the news, so I don't have anything I'd consider a regular source there, other the the Friends and Acquaintances of Hraka (among them Right Wing News and Armed Liberal, both of who have linked here with words of praise, so perhaps you shouldn't be so quick in your evident assumption of what my politics are). That is what bloggers do best, after all.

I am forced to guess that you're bitching about my take on the NYT story on bloggers and pamphleteers, since you didn't waste much space on establishing context. I hardly think it an extreme opinion that the NYT slants left, just as I don't think it's an extreme opinion that Fox News slants right. Fox just happens to be more upfront about it. Whether I agree with their politics or not, that's just a more honest thing to do. As it stands, I feel I have enough experience with the media to discern bias, especially when I have more than one source for a story. I would hope that a Doctor in the Department of Philosophy at Huron University would have developed some as well, in this day and age.

Out of curiousity, how does one attain the status of being both naive and an ex-moron? Surely naivete would prevent one from escaping moronism?

All the best,

Bigwig

Update: Should anyone like to buy a painting from Dr. Ryan, you may do so at his online store, Nature Art Online. The one of the Barn Owl is particularly nice.

Update:Dr. Ryans returns!

Hi, Bigwig,
Thanks for the note. Yes, I saw your out-of-context comment on, I think, Cold Fury. No, really, I'm not bitching or jerking you around with a sarcastic letter. I've been scandalized by liberal bias in NYT when it's shown to me (by A. Sullivan or NRO, for example). I sincerely wanted to find out whether there was a paper that presented as close to just the facts ma'am (and plenty of 'em, so a quality paper, unlike the London Free Press) until you get to the editorial page. I like the NYT because there's so much news in it. But it's hard for even this PhD to pick out front-page editorializing without reading five papers a day, especially a PhD suffering from lingering naivete. Come to think of it, as a young'un I was always good at humanities and science but in social sciences, well, I "just didn't get it".

Naivete and ex-moronism: naivete fades slowly, blindspots here and there ebbing away. But ex-moronitude can happen fairly abruptly, when something inside your brain breaks through the crust of numbskullness left by your 22-year-old self. I'm 37 and it's my picture in the dictionary under "If you weren't a liberal when you were 20, you don't have a heart. If you weren't a conservative by the time you're 35, you don't have a brain." That is, I turned out to have a brain. By the way, why is it that no one bothers to correct you when you're 22 and a moron? Or was I just not listening?

So, I guess you're saying there's nothing for it but to read several papers a day? I'll look forwad to checking your blogs. The first time I heard of you was yesterday when I read that quote. Anyway, if you think of anything else smart to say to this puppy, please say it. Say, I'll be moving back your way next Spring, back to Charlottesville, VA. The Daily Progress. Now there's a paper!

Best,
Jim


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It's always nice to read a balanced discussion of America's foreign policy. Unbalanced ones are funnier, though.


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Us Air Force Academy Officers Suspended For Performing Monty Python Sketch


HUMPHREY: I do wish you'd listen, Wymer. It's perfectly simple. If you're not getting your hair cut, you don't have to move your brother's clothes down to the lower peg. You simply collect his note before lunch, after you've done your scripture prep, when you've written your letter home, before rest, move your own clothes onto the lower peg, greet the visitors, and report to Mr. Viney that you've had your chit signed. Now, sex. Sex, sex, sex. Where were we? [sniff] Well, had I got as far as the penis entering the vagina? [sniff]
PUPILS: Umm. Mmmm.
[silence]
BIGGS: Nnnno, sir.
WATSON: No, sir.
BIGGS: No, sir.
WATSON: No.
PUPILS: No...
WATSON: No.
HUMPHREY: Well, had I done foreplay?
[silence]
PUPILS: Mmmm. Yeah. Yeah...
WATSON: Yes.
BIGGS: Yes, sir.
WATSON: Yes, sir.
HUMPHREY: Ahh, well, as we all know all about foreplay, no doubt you can tell me what the purpose of foreplay is,... Biggs.
BIGGS: Uhm-- Don't know. Sorry, sir.
HUMPHREY: Carter.
CARTER: Ah. Uhh, was it taking your clothes off, sir?
HUMPHREY: Well, and-- and after that?
WYMER: Ooh. Putting them on the lower peg, sir?
PUPILS: [chuckling]
[whop]
HUMPHREY: The purpose of foreplay is to cause the vagina to lubricate, so that the penis can penetrate more easily.
WATSON: Could we have a window open, please, sir?
HUMPHREY: Yes. Harris, will you? And, of course, to cause the man's penis to erect and har... den! [sniff] Now, did I do vaginal juices last week? Oh, do pay attention, Wadsworth! I know it's Friday after-- Oh, watching the football, are you boy? Right! Move over there. I'm warning you! I may decide to set an exam this term.
WATSON: Oh, sir.
BIGGS: Oh, sir.
PUPILS: Oh, sir...
HUMPHREY: So, just listen. Now, did I or did I not... do... vaginal...juices?
PUPILS: Mmm. Mmm. Yes, sir. Yes, sir.
HUMPHREY: Name two ways of getting them flowing, Watson.
WATSON: R-- rubbing the clitoris, sir?
HUMPHREY: What's wrong with a kiss, boy? Hmm? Why not start her off with a nice kiss? You don't have to go leaping straight for the clitoris like a bull at a gate. Give her a kiss, boy.
WYMER: Suck the nipple, sir?
HUMPHREY: Good! Good. Well done, Wymer.
DUCKWORTH: Uh, stroking the thighs, sir.
HUMPHREY: Yes. Yes, I suppose so. Hmm?
PUPIL IN FRONT: Oh, sir. Biting the neck.
HUMPHREY: Yes. Good. Nibbling the earlobe, uhh, kneading the buttocks, and so on and so forth. So, we have all these possibilities before we stampede towards the clitoris, Watson.
WATSON: Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.
HUMPHREY: Now, all these forms of stimulation can now take place,...
[clunk clunk]
[clunk]
[clunk clunk]
[clunk clunk]
[twong]
...and, of course, tongueing will give you the best idea of how the juices are coming along. Helen! Now, penetration and coitus-- That is to say, intercourse up to, and including, orgasm. Ah, hello, dear. Do stand up when my wife enters the room, Carter!
CARTER: Oh, sorry, sir. Sorry.
HELEN WILLIAMS: Humphrey, I hope you don't mind, but I told the Garfields we would dine with them tonight.
HUMPHREY: Yes. Yes, well, I suppose we must.
HELEN: And I said we'd be there by eight.
HUMPHREY: Well, at least it'll give me a reason to wind up the staff meeting.
HELEN: Well, I know you don't like them, but I couldn't make another excuse.
HUMPHREY: Well, it's just that I felt n-- Wymer! This is for your benefit. Would you kindly wake up? I've no intention of going through this all again.
WYMER: Ahhh.
HUMPHREY: Uhh, we'll take the foreplay as read, if you don't mind, dear.
HELEN: No, of course not, Humphrey.
HUMPHREY: So, the man starts by entering-- or mounting-- his good lady wife in the standard way. Uh, the penis is now, as you will observe, more or less, fully erect. There we are. Ah, that's better. Now,-- Carter.
CARTER: Yes, sir?
HUMPHREY: What is it?
CARTER: It's an ocarina, sir.
HUMPHREY: Bring it up here. The man now starts making thrusting movements with his pelvic area, moving the penis up and down inside the vagina, so--Put it there, boy. Put it there on the table.
[clunk]
While the wife maximizes her clitoral stimulation by the shaft of the penis by pushing forward,-- Thank you, dear. Now, as sexual...
BIGGS: [chuckling]
HUMPHREY: ...excitement mounts, uh,-- What's funny, Biggs?
BIGGS: Uh,-- Oh, nothing, sir.
HUMPHREY: Oh, do please share your little joke with the rest of us. I mean, obviously something frightfully funny's going on.
PUPIL: [chuckle]
BIGGS: No. Honestly, sir.
HUMPHREY: Well, as it's so funny, I think you'd better be selected to play for the boys' team in the rugby match against the masters this afternoon!
[morbid music]
BIGGS: Oh, no, sir.

Get your Monty Python Scripts here.


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Your Goverment in Action


Who in Georgia got the most money in farm subsidies in the period 1999 -2001? John Mobley
Which politician did John Mobley give the most money to? Max Cleland
How did Max Cleland vote on the 2002 corporate giveaway farm bill? He voted for it.
Where does Max Cleland stand on most issues? You can see here.

Max was just the first name I ran across. See who else you can find.


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The World Turned Upside Down


Frank Rich of the New York Times thinks that Saudi Arabia is our real enemy, not Iraq.

While Saddam is an authentic genocidal monster, there are more plausible links between Al Qaeda and our dear friend Saudi Arabia than between Al Qaeda and Saddam; it could be argued that toppling him would strengthen Al Qaeda. But what the administration is mainly hoping is that a march on Baghdad will make us forget about Al Qaeda, wherever it may be lying in wait. It's not good P.R. for our war on terrorism that Islamic terrorists have been linked to eight attacks abroad since Daniel Pearl's murder in January, including the assassination of the Afghan vice president in Kabul and the slaughter of an American diplomat, among others, at a church in Islamabad.

I think you could argue that "only eight attacks" since January is excellent P.R. for the War on Terrorism, but that's not really what struck me about the piece. If Frank Rich is making noises about Saudi Arabia being more of a threat, then you can bet that others on the left have thought about that too. It's an excellent argument to use against a President who is still receiving high, though possibly soft, support from the American public in the War on Terrorism. No matter what happens in Iraq, one can always claim that Bush didn't go after the "real enemy". If bad things happen in the Middle East...Excuse me, WHEN bad things happen in the Middle East after the war on Iraq, the argument can be put in front of the public again. He's also vulnerable to an argument suggesting that his administration is increasing the size of the government and depriving Americans of their civil liberties for no good reason, to no good effect, and that his support of protectionist policies and farm welfare is hurting the economy.

The last three arguments would seem to be a better fit for a Republican primary challenger (Paging a Mr. McCain, Mr. John McCain) than to a Democrat, but as long as it's not Al Gore making them, they might do some damage.


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Baseball's slutty fans


So on August 30, some millionaires are going to go on strike because of a dispute that they're having with some other millionaires. I don't care. Major league baseball lost me years ago. We watch the Durham Bulls three or four times a year. They're close, it's a nice stadium and the prices are pretty cheap. That's enough baseball for me. The owners and the players leave me cold. A curse on both their houses, and a curse on their fans, as well. Major league baseball fans are the sports equivalent of the mousy girl home alone on a Saturday night. Baseball shows up at her door at two in the morning, drunk and expecting to get laid after having ignored her for a week. They crawl into bed, Baseball gives her about 30 seconds of grinding then passes out on top of her. In the morning Mr. Baseball is nowhere to be found, there's puke all over the bathroom and a note on the bedside table saying "See you in a week, baby."

Whatever is happening to baseball is not the owner's fault, and not the player's fault. It's the fan's fault, for putting up with their crap. So screw you guys. You're enabling everything you're bitching about. If you want to make baseball change, quit spreading your legs everytime baseball comes knocking on your door. Baseball just told you that starting August 30th, you're nobody to them. They've got other business at that point , and they don't want to be bored to tears again having to listen to you talk about your "needs." But until then, you'll be okay with giving them some each night, ok?

Well, cut them off. Stop going to games, stop watching games, stop watching Baseball Tonight on ESPN. You've got 12 days to make your displeasure known. If these bastards play in front of empty staduims they'll get the message. When television stations see the already anemic ratings plumment even more, the'll bend the ear of the owners. If you're tired of baseball giving you the shaft, quit paying them to fuck you. Don't talk about doing it after the strike, they don't care then. Do it now.

Update: How I would fix baseball. Pay every player a million dollars. No more. No less. Guarantee the owners a certain profit, then take all the other money and plow it back into the system to lower ticket and concession prices, pay minor-leaguers more, and fund Little League. Yes, it's not capitalistic, but baseball isn't capitalistic. Congress passed legislation saying so. If it's America's game, then America needs to take it away from the greedy assholes ruining it.


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Come and listen to a story about a man named Ed

A bad cat burglar, his loot was made of lead.

Thought jumping in the river was a move that would be shrewd,

In a matter of a minute he became some fishes food


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Miracle Elvis bust "weeps"

A plaster bust of Elvis Presley has wept "miracle" tears on the 25th anniversary of his death, its Dutch owner says.

The weeping ceases only when a Grilled Peanut Butter and Banana Sandwich with a side of quaaludes is place in front of the bust, at which point it starts grunting and straining until it topples over. Shows at 2:00, 3:00, 4:00, 5:00, 6:00 and 10:30 daily. Patrons in the company of jailbait admitted free of charge.


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Couple arrested for sex in cathedral

A Virginia couple have been arraigned after they were arrested for allegedly having sex in a vestibule of St Patrick's Cathedral while parishioners worshiped nearby. Loretta Lynn Harper, 35, of Alexandria, and her boyfriend, Brian Florence, 37, of Quantico, were charged with obscenity in the third degree and public lewdness.

S 235.05 Obscenity in the third degree.
A person is guilty of obscenity in the third degree when, knowing its
content and character, he:
1. Promotes, or possesses with intent to promote, any obscene material;
or
2. Produces, presents or directs an obscene performance or participates
in a portion thereof which is obscene or which contributes to its
obscenity.

New York penal law 245.00, Public Lewdness:
| Exposure of private or intimate parts in a lewd manner.
| Sentence: 3 mo, $500
Obscenity in the third degree is a class A misdemeanor.

They're in big trouble, as neither one is a priest.


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8/16/2002




What the possessor of The New Perfect Manhood should know the morning after he finally becomes one.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Part 8 - Proof of Virginity after the Consummation of Marriage


If there's still some proof of virginity, you've been drilling the wrong well, son.

The discovery of blood on the bed clothes, following the consummation of marriage, is a positive proof that the wife was a virgin.

Blood on the kitchen table is a positive proof the the groom could not wait one more blasted second.

The absence of all signs of blood is not to be considered as conclusive proof that the wife was not a virgin.

It's pretty good proof that you're a little lacking in the package department, though. It'll be the first thing she tells her mother and her sister and all her female relations. And they in turn will tell their husbands. Strangers will point you out on the street. "Raisin!" they will call you. Can you feel her eyes upon you, Gerald? Do you see the glint of amusement and pity in them? Do you see the way they linger on the gardener, on his fine strong back, on the...armadillo in his trousers? I told you not to pleasure yourself, Gerald, but I never told you why. It doesn't make you blind, it makes you....shrink. Bwahahahahahahahahahahaha!

The hymen is so near the external orifice of the vagina that at any time in life a girl might accidentally sit or drop down on a pointed object so as to break the hymen.

This is known as "Bobbing for Bananas"

Small girls occasionally break the hymen by ignorantly and innocently playing with themselves or with each other.

"I don't know what it is, Dorothy, but you won't believe how high I can make a dime bounce off of it."

In a few cases the opening in the hymen is naturally large enough to permit of intercourse without breaking.

You feel better now, little man?

Though carelessness on the part of parents or guardians and ignorance on the part of small girls and boys, children eight, ten and twelve years old sometimes engage in sexual relations.

"Dammit, Helen, they're at it again. Mildred, Charles, if I see you doing that with the buggy whip one more time, you'll never play with the Catholic kids again, so help me God.

In such cases the hymens of small girls are broken.

It's all fun and games until someone gets their hymen put out.

Occasionally girls under fourteen, who do not know the name of the act, to say nothing of what in it involves, permit young men to have sexual relations with them.

This is prevented by instructing your female children in the names of the act from a very small age. Among them are Exciting the Irish, Riding with Mr. Roosevelt, Fannie and the Frenchman, Conjugal Communion, Bibbity Bobbity Boner, Stoming The Trenches, Phallus and Athena, Poon Spoon, Adam and Eve and PinchMeTit, Damming the River Menses, Prince Albert in Your Can and Making Pudenda Pudding. Have her repeat them to your minister. He will always know of five or six others that may be added to the list.

If it is not continued beyond the fourteenth year, in the eyes of civil law, the offense does not constitute a loss of virginity.

That gives you two years of fun in most of America, and four in Kentucky and Tennessee.

Prudish mothers who keep their girls ignorant concerning their reproductive organs and their social dangers are infinitely more guilty of crime than their daughters are.

So when your uterus uses the wrong fork during the cheese course, you'll know who to blame.

Coming Soon: Ovulation and Mensturation, and Why the Woman Has the Right to Set the Date of Marriage


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8/15/2002




Reuters needs a clue. Bloggers need the work.

I'm on a neverending quest to find content for Silflay the blog monster. Part of this involves reading lots of news sites. Not major sites, like the NYT or Slate, but niche news and oddball sites. You're much more likely to find a story like Mother Goes to Court over Newborn Named After Horse at Lycos than you are at the Washington Post. I also find writing about poor little Man o'War a lot easier than I do the UAL bankuptcy talks. But the sites, large or small, may as well be on newsprint for all the interactivity they offer. Take Australians turn turtle watchers, from the Reuters' Oddly Enough section. I can accept that a site may decide not to give you links out of some wrong-headed desire to keep you there for all eternity, but what's the point of this?

The newspaper's and EPA's Web sites (www.thecouriermail.com.au/dean) and (www.epa.qld.gov.au) also offer a map plotting Dean's course.

Yes, they do have links to the map, but they're not easy to find. What's so hard about just saying see the map here? Why not go whole hog and say "If you like turtle maps, you can see more here." You're supposed to be an information site. Writing the story in the first place is the hard part!

Don't want to fool with the copy? I'll tell you what. Find a blogger, there's at least one out there who could use the work, ok two, and pay them the money you'd pay an intern. Give them ftp access to some remote corner of your site, and then send them a copy of the story 10 minutes before it's uploaded. At the bottom of each story, put a link to the blog in and say "For more information, see our blog at http://fakereutersaddress.com" The blogger will find the extra info and post it beneath a link back to the original story. In less than a month it'll be the most popular page on your site.

Don't want to go to the trouble of finding a blogger? Would you prefer round-the-clock updates? Well, contact an organization of bloggers, and they'll contract out the updates to bloggers from all over the world. It's cheap. Most do this for nothing anyway, so they'll do it for next to nothing.

And if you're a such a an organization, think of this. Most media sites run the same stories. You only have to find a link once. Depending on how many sites sign up for your blogging service, you could get paid for them multiple times.

Hmm, that smells suspiciously like a business model. I'm not a businessman, though. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Olsen?


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Evangelist Says Muslims Haven't Adequately Apologized for Sept. 11 Attacks

Nine months after calling Islam "a very evil and wicked religion," the evangelist Franklin Graham said yesterday that Muslims had not sufficiently apologized for the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks and that they should help compensate victims' families.

Not that I disagree, but why do I get the feeling that the only adequate apology for the Frank Sinatra Jr. of the evangelical set is for Muslims to renounce Islam en masse and convert? Expecting an apology from someone after you call their religion "evil and wicked" is a tad much, don't you think, Frankie? Let's do some counting, Frankie. How many did Jesus pronounce Zoroastrianism wicked and evil? How about Buddhism? Judaism? Every other religion on the planet at the time he was alive? All together, that's.....let's see. Zero. You and Pat and Jerry need to shut up and go back to ripping off the trailer trash. You're nothing but a mullah without the sheet.


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8/14/2002





BlogBlock


G: Man, there ain't nothing like a cold bug at the end of the day. My man seems to have forgotten that
R: True. True. I think he's tired.
Zod: Tired my ass. He's blown out a hemisphere if you ask me. I might as well be a goddamn mime.
R: Mime? You'd be the worst damn mime ever. I don't think I've ever seen you shut up.
Zod: I'm supposed to talk all the time, I'm the...the dammit...I'm the contrapuntal theme.
G: You got a dirty mouth, Zod.
Zod: How can you be so damn dumb and still have a head?
G: You're mighty high-talking for a man who got drowned out by Spencer's Mountain.
R: Oh! Oh! Oh! Spencer's Mountain? What the fuck, Zod?
Zod: I told, he's not listening. When the man doesn't hear me talking during Spencer's Mountain...well..something's up.
R: What's he doing in front the television anyway? Man's got a duty to his audience.
G: Man's audience is smaller than Zod's weiner.
Zod: That is so old. I could crush your skull with it.
G: You go ahead and try. I'll cut you, bitch. You be Jewish in ten seconds flat. Be calling me Rebbe G.
R: Shalom, Rebbe.
G: Shalom, motherfucker.
Zod: Look, we've been down here in the id for what, two months now? The floor is sticky, the air smells like crap. Don't you wonder why that is?
R: He's tired.
Zod: What if he's not tired? What if he's done?
G: What do you mean, done?
Zod: He's finished!. He said all he he had to say, he hit the bottom of the barrel and he's done. AND WE'RE STUCK DOWN HERE!
R: Mighty shallow barrel, if you ask me. Looked bigger on the outside.
G: Have some damn faith, Zod. Man just got Warcraft 3. Jesus could be sitting on his shoulder pissing down his arm and he wouldn't notice.
R: True. True.


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Postscript: First time visitor to House Hraka? Wondering if everything we produce could possibly be as brilliant/stupid/evil/pedantic/insipid/inspired as the post you just read? Check out the Hraka Essentials, the (mostly) reader-selected guide to Hraka's best posts, and decide for yourself. Also, you're currently at the old site. Fresh Hraka is posted every day at our current location.




The summer news meme for last year? Shark Attacks. This year? Kid snatchings. Just to give you a head's up, here is next year's

When Cadirus Attack
When candirus parasitize humans, it is usually only when they are skinny-dipping while urinating in the water. The candiru tastes the urine stream and follows it back to the human. It then swims up the anus and lodges itself somewhere in the urinary tract with its spines. Blood is drawn, and the candiru gorges itself on both the blood and body tissue, its body sometimes expanding due to the amount of blood. This is all said to be very painful for the poor person who has this happen to him or her. Unfortunately, they are almost impossible to remove due to the spines. Amputation of the private areas is the cheapest, and most life-changing, way to remove the fish. Actual surgery is extremely expensive and involves inserting the Xagua plant and the Buitach apple up the urethra. These two plants kill and even dissolve the parasitic fish. If surgery is not done in time, the blockage of the urinary tract will prove fatal. The candiru is the only known vertebrate to parasitize humans.

The explosion of news stories about the cadiru, especially after it is discovered living wild in the bayous of Louisiana will lead to the introduction of the first fish-based security systems in America.

Update:Falling coconuts kill more people than sharks

"Falling coconuts kill 150 people worldwide each year, 15 times the number of fatalities attributable to sharks," said George Burgess, Director of the University of Florida's International Shark Attack File and a noted shark researcher.

Coconuts dropped by the African Swallow, no doubt.

Update:Killer Peas


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Is it just me, or is "Super Chubby" a really unfortunate name for a children's book publisher?


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Silence fell over the throng as one man strode alone up the hill. "Dead man flying!" He called out. "Dead man flying!"


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8/13/2002




The lines at at the airport are annoying, but at least we're safer, right? Wrong.

To forestall attacks, security systems need to be small-scale, redundant, and compartmentalized. Rather than large, sweeping programs, they should be carefully crafted mosaics, each piece aimed at a specific weakness. The federal government and the airlines are spending millions of dollars, Schneier points out, on systems that screen every passenger to keep knives and weapons out of planes. But what matters most is keeping dangerous passengers out of airline cockpits, which can be accomplished by reinforcing the door. Similarly, it is seldom necessary to gather large amounts of additional information, because in modern societies people leave wide audit trails. The problem is sifting through the already existing mountain of data. Calls for heavy monitoring and record-keeping are thus usually a mistake. ("Broad surveillance is a mark of bad security," Schneier wrote in a recent Crypto-Gram.)

To halt attacks once they start, security measures must avoid being subject to single points of failure. Computer networks are particularly vulnerable: once hackers bypass the firewall, the whole system is often open for exploitation. Because every security measure in every system can be broken or gotten around, failure must be incorporated into the design. No single failure should compromise the normal functioning of the entire system or, worse, add to the gravity of the initial breach. Finally, and most important, decisions need to be made by people at close range—and the responsibility needs to be given explicitly to people, not computers.

Unfortunately, there is little evidence that these principles are playing any role in the debate in the Administration, Congress, and the media about how to protect the nation. Indeed, in the argument over policy and principle almost no one seems to be paying attention to the practicalities of security—a lapse that Schneier, like other security professionals, finds as incomprehensible as it is dangerous.


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I forgot to set Opera to no pop-ups before surfing tonight, so instead of Slate and the NYT my first window is a pop-up for The JewishCafe.com, from Debkafiles, of all places. They've got an ad on the front page at debka.com as well, where they're joined by Jcupid.com. What exactly is it about a headline like "Arafat Is Preparing Multiple Suicide Mega-Attack for Imminent Execution by Several Bomb Cars" that makes these two think this is a good place to advertise? Terror sex? And is it just me, or do the stylized flowers on the table in the pop-up bear a scary likeness to swastikas?


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P.J. O'Rouke is funny on purpose. The protestors he writes about are too, but not on purpose.

We are in the postmodern era of American political demonstrations. The Palestinian Solidarity March, an indignant crowd opposed, in a way, to itself, was marching around with little hope of achieving an objective—assuming there was one. This struck a chord. Thousands of other protesters joined in. They held a neo-demo, parodying the actions of the suffragettes, Cox's Army, the civil-rights movement, and the Vietnam War protests. Seeking a clear political response has been replaced by consulting a Magic 8-Ball of activist demands: "Reply Hazy, Demonstrate Again Later."

Link via Common Sense and Wonder


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Fragments from Floyd has put up a natural Rorschach test. I saw a de-horned Minotaur, sitting at a small circular table, conversing with an owl perched on an overturned napkin dispenser.


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Greetings to our friends in Tripoli (62.240.34.12), who came here in search of sex free arib.


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They Might Be Giants - No!


You can see this post, as well as lots of other swell (nifty! keen!) reviews at blogcritics.com

I have a daughter. She’s two, she’s a toddler, and she has no attention span. One moment she’ll be playing with the giant Legos, the next will see her scattering playing cards across the living room floor, and the moment after that the cats are running for their lives. The only things that capture her attention for more than a minute or two are videos and DVDs. Studies that tell me to turn off the television bounce off me like bullets off Superman. She loves them, they keep her mostly in one room, and her teachers in daycare talk about how smart she is every day. It’s not on all the time, but when the box goes dark, it’s only a matter of time until a cat starts yowling in fear or toys start bouncing down the stairs in a colorful plastic waterfall.

She’s gotten to the point where she can pick what she wants to watch. She can’t read, but she knows exactly which tape or DVD goes in which box. Her tastes vary over time, so I have seen the rise and fall of Elmo, the brief reign of Pooh, the Wiggles interregnum, and the slow but steady growth in popularity of Blue’s Clues. “Blue’s Clues” is beyond her at this point, so when she hands me the DVD, it’s always with the Zen admonition, “Pay Booze Cooze, daddy. Pay Booze Cooze.” My incessant giggling at this point doesn’t bother her, but it does annoy her mother a great deal.

Toddlers are also creatures of habit, which in the end is perhaps the only thing that saves a parent from going off the deep end. One nice thing about having a two-foot destruction machine in your house is that, come 7:30, it expects a bath, a cuddle and a bed, more or less. And as my toddler gets older, it’s always more. For the past couple of months, that means that each night, between the end of bath and the putting-on of pajamas, she gets to run down the hall shrieking in delight, damp towel trailing behind, to sit in my lap at the computer desk, where we watch and listen to the new They Might be Giants album, No! . She wraps herself in the towel, leans her dripping head back against my shoulder and picks the first track of the evening. “Wobot Parade, daddy. Pay Wobot pawade.”

Once of the first things I ever bought for her was the Talking Head’s “Stop Making Sense” DVD, because I saw it on an Amazon.com list called “Videos that your child will love that you can stomach.” No! deserves a place on that list, one near the very top. She and I have watched or listened to part of that album almost every night since it arrived. The CD is enhanced, so a majority of the songs come with interactive Flash animation that a kid, or parent in my case, can click on while the music plays on the computer. The animations are what we watch each night before bedtime, and my only complaint is that they don’t do enough. Each has two or three variations, and they aged quickly for me. The daughter has no such problem, and they are for her after all.

People fear most children’s music for good reason, for a large part of it is saccharine coated cheese. Barney is the intellectual equivalent of a potato chip, and not one of the good potato chips either. Barney is one of those potato chips with the manufactured fat that makes your ass leak. No!, on the other hand, is a never-ending cornucopia.

I cannot help but love an album that starts out telling your child of the joys of lying (Fibber Island), tells her that brooms have minds of their own (I Am Not Your Broom), and uses ping pong paddles as musical instruments (Bed Bed Bed).

TMBG aren’t afraid to play in the thematic territories you would expect to see on a kid’s album, like the safety first theme of In the Middle In the Middle In the Middle

Don’t cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Don’t cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Use your eyes to look up
Use your ears to hear
Walk up to the corner where the coast is clear
And wait and wait until you see the light turn green.


You may have heard that the best way to remember something is to sing it. I believe it. An episode of Cheers, one that I haven’t seen for years, has Coach and Sam memorizing facts about Albania for some reason. They sing them to remember them. I don’t know if Ted Danson can still recall, but I still know that Albania is mostly mountainous, borders on the Adriatic, and exports chrome. I will never fear for my daughter at street corners, because the song has infected her, body and soul.

“Don kass da steet inda midda inda midda inda midda inda midda a da woad” she told me this morning.

Most kid’s albums have some tortured attempt by the artist to sing about the world from a three year olds point of view. This factor alone may determine an artist’s popularity among the diapers and pull ups crowd. Raffi does this well, so I am told, as do the Wiggles. TMBG take the idea to its logical end, and sing about the one thing Toddlers know above all others—The word “No!"

No is no
No is always no
If they say no it means a thousand times no
No plus no equals no
All no’s lead to no, no, no


If I don’t want her zoning in front of the television, I can slip No! into the DVD player, and she’ll stay within earshot of the music, and that is a gift beyond compare. I can think of five or six infants that will be getting No! from me on their second birthday, but it will really be a gift for their parents.


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8/12/2002





An Entirely Hypothetical Question


Let's assume, for the purposes of argument, that through an odd series of coincidences you are a blogger that has obtained evidence that gives you a pretty good idea of when the next major American strike in the war on terrorism is. What do you do?


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Steven den Beste has written an post critical of anonymous bloggers, Demosthenes in particular.

What Demosthenes is saying is that he is expressing controversial opinions on his blog, and he fears that if those around him discover it that he may suffer social consequences from doing so, such as the possibility of losing friends or being the target of social ostracism, and that he is not willing to pay that price. He will only say what he thinks if he does not risk anything because of it.

He says, "I don't want my arguments here to affect how people treat me in real life", and to that end he only reveals his involvement to those he thinks would be sympathetic, while continuing to conceal it from everyone else. Surely if he thought that the reaction he'd get from broader revelation was positive, there would be no trepidation. It's hard to see how he'd be concerned about such a reaction unless he expected it to be negative and to have unacceptable consequences.

That's his choice, of course. but there's a price to be paid for it. It also affects how his readers view him. Consider the practical effect of this decision. What he's saying amounts to this:

I, Demosthenes, have certain strongly-held opinions about the current crisis which I think are important, and I advocate certain political positions. I write about them here in hopes that American citizens will read what I write, be persuaded by what I say, publicly embrace those opinions, and in turn attempt to influence the government of the United States to carry out those policies.

I, myself, do not admit to holding those opinions to those around me because I'm afraid of the consequences. But I believe that American voters should do what I say, not what I do, and they should publicly embrace the opinions that I myself fear to admit to in my own name.

They should be courageous and take chances based on my writings, even though I'm not willing to. They should risk social censure, even though I do not.


Does that criticism apply to us? I suppose to a casual reader it could. We don't post under our own names, either. We didn't do it out of concern for our safety, though. Back in May, when I was casting about for a site name, I considered Demosthenes as well, not knowing that he already existed. I suppose anyone familiar with Ender's Game gave it at least a passing thought. I decided pretty quickly that taking that name was an act of hubris so large it practically demanded retribution from the gods. Also, while I hold a pretty good opinion of myself, I know better than to think I can write at the level a name like that demands. I eventually decided on Silflay Hraka as the blogname, for the reasons detailed here. Once that was decided, it just seemed logical to adopt a nom-de-plume that fit the theme. We also don't hide who we are very well. You can find out my name and email address by clicking on either of the tip jars over there on the upper right. And as long as you're there....

Anyone who's a regular reader also knows my daughter's name, the town I live in and the place I work. I don't feel very anonymous. I just like posting as Bigwig. It feels more like a nickname than a protective cover.

That said, anonymous bloggers don't bother me either. It's your choice, and there's probably a myriad of reasons other than the two above to write under a name other than your own. That's the reason why, if you scroll down, you'll see a post that says nothing other than "space for rent". I inadvertently outed the Fusilier Pundit Saturday night, and pulled the post Sunday morning once I read his very first blog entry. Wiping it out entirely felt a a little too Orwellian, but I don't think it's up to me to decide who gets outed or not.

Update: Going on nothing but gut instinct, I've decided that the people most likely to blog under cover are residents of the left. Armed Liberal is pseudonymous, as is the aforementioned Demosthenes. I'll go out and see if I can't find some others. I can also think of at least one good reason why a lefty might want to protect his identity. Freepers.


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More Sept. 11 pictures, taken by a photographer killed in the second collapse.


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8/11/2002





Jooohn Hennrrrrry!


It’s another Norman Rockwell moment. The soft glow of the nightlight illumines two figures. One is myself, sitting beside my daughter in her toddler bed, chanting out the words to her new favorite book, Jazz Baby;

Jaaaazz, baby, Jaaaaazz baby
Blow that horn.
You’ve got rhythm
sure as you’re born.

Jaaaazz, baby, Jaaaaazz baby
Tap your feet.
Snap your fingers,
happy beat.

She leans into me, head against my chest, one hand twisting a golden tress around her fingers, the other one jammed down the front of her diaper, busy doing God knows what down there.

My daughter plays with her crotch more than an entire team of baseball players with prickly heat. It’s not even shocking to us anymore. We’ll be sitting on the couch watching Elmo and the next thing you know she’s digging for diaper gold. Sometimes she finds some.

“Daddy, look!” as she holds up some speck or other.

“That’s very nice dear. Don’t put your hand in your crotch”

“Ok.”

And the hand goes down by her side, where it stays for all of 10 seconds before it heads back to the mines. Sometimes it comes out a ghostly white, covered in Desitin put there to ward off a visit from the diaper rash fairy. Maybe she likes the taste, because her thumb tends to head right for her mouth and I’ve got to intercept it and clean off the goo before it completes its journey. I have a number of shirt corners that will not be suffering from inflammation any time soon.

We don’t make a big deal over it. What am I supposed to do, go all Saudi on my kid because she’s exploring her body? That’s how she learned to clap. She does that all day long too. Clap clap clap. Look what I can do! Clap clap clap. Now daddy clap! Now mommy clap! Clap clap clap. O wondrous world, that has such things in it!

“I make noise,” she says, and claps some more, and giggles. Then she bangs on the table. It makes a hollow sound “Like drum.” Then run, run to the door and give it a couple of good smacks. “Knock knock!”

Then we shriek at her to stop, and to go sit in front of the TV and be quiet while we nurse our hangovers. No, not really.

She grabbed my hands in a bear hug as we lay in her bed tonight, and turned her head so that her ear was pressed up again them.

“Clap, daddy, clap.”

I put the heels of my palms together and clapped my fingers together, so I wouldn’t dislodge her ear. She laughs at the sound.

“Daddy make noise. More?”

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clapclapclapclapclap Clap! CLAP!

“More?”

Clap and a clapclap, clap clap!

“I do now.” And she claps and sings a song, not one I know, one she must have gotten from daycare. She laughs and collapses down on top of me to hug as tightly as she can.

Right now she’s free, to clap or to scratch herself, to frenziedly wave at the shadow she casts on the wall or to her reflection in the mirror. Everything she does now, every thing she learns brings with it an apparently infinite amount of delight. That must be why children learn so quickly, as if they are taking in a deep, deep breath, inhaling in as much of the world as they can. How much could you learn if every new thing brought with it a tiny orgasm of joy?

She is totally unselfconscious. It’s the purest form of happiness I have ever known or seen. The best I can do now is to occasionally fake that feeling, to pretend to the world outside that I don’t notice it, that I really am caught up in the moment, rapt. But I remember what it feels like.

No one keeps that feeling forever. Do you remember the times when you were self-conscious—at a dance when you were the only one sitting alone, or when you walked into a crowded room, a sudden hush fell, and the gimlet eyes considered and dismissed you? It's hot flashes, nausea and a tiny voice in your soul begging for mercy. My daughter will feel that way one day, and she’ll feel the nausea, and the heat of embarrassment, and the knots of shame in her stomach. That’s why I don’t freak when she starts picking the Pampers banjo. Why would I want her first taste of it to come from me?


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