Whether or not you care about the fashion “industry” (haven for men who hate women), you should read my local rag’s fashion writer’s take-down of Kanye West’s line of “fashions.”
It is as delightful a skewering of an vacuous poseur as I’ve seen in many months.
The resident curmudgeon at my local rag gets one right. When her time comes, she doesn’t want to be “curated” on the Zuckerborg.
Leonard Pitts, Jr., explores the mania for “secret knowledge”:
No, the Secret Knowledge is the truth behind the truth, the real facts behind the facts “they” want you to believe. It unveils the conspiracies beneath the facade suckers mistake for real life. Not incidentally, the Secret Knowledge will always confirm your worst fears.
Bad enough the Secret Knowledge drives our politics (Barack Obama is a Muslim from Kenya), our perception of controversy (Trayvon Martin was a 32-year-old tough with tattoos on his neck), our understanding of environmental crisis (there is no scientific consensus on global warming) and our comprehension of tragedy (9/11 was an inside job). Apparently, it now drives healthcare, too.
Read the rest.
In related news, Michelle Goldberg wonders why Republicans chose to hop on the anti-vaxxer train. Here’s a bit:
It is grotesque that, in the midst of the current measles outbreak, some leading Republicans are humoring vaccine denialists, but it is not surprising. It is, rather, a near-perfect illustration of the craziness gap in American politics. Vaccine skepticism is one of those issues, like 9/11 Trutherism, where parts of the fringe right and fringe left, each driven by their own distinct fears about authority, curve around and meet each other. Yet only the fringe right finds indulgence among mainstream politicians.
This is odd, if you get my drift.
Barbara Davis, 61, was arrested after allegedly attacking her 60-year-old neighbor, causing “minor injuries.”
Ari Kohen gets zucked.
For all I know, they’ve done that to me, but I can’t be bothered to log into the Zuckerborg and check.
Who woulda thunk? Corporate hijinks in the used grease industry:
It says Valley Proteins made exclusive contracts with restaurants to take their old cooking oil and left 300-gallon collection containers on their sites. Valley employees stopped by every few weeks to collect the grease.
Several years ago, Valley noticed its grease containers were being stolen, says the ruling written by Appeals Court Judge Robert C. Hunter. The lawsuit says at least 28 containers, worth $500 each, were taken.
The company also began receiving letters “from unknown sources” saying that Valley Proteins’ customers were switching vendors and Valley had five or 10 days to collect its containers, a Valley employee testified at a deposition. But by the time Valley got the letters, the five or 10 days typically were expired, the employee said.
Then, again, why should we expect used grease dealers to be any more honest than banksters?
Apparently, “shrug” is the new “talk to the hand.”
An essential “parenting” (man, I loathe that 80s neologism) skill is not sweating the small stuff.
Honest to Pete, you can’t make this stuff up
When she grows up, she will likely be a Wall Street Banker.
Ultra-entitled: This fellow wants a money-back guarantee for his big game “hunt” of a captive animal.
Friends. Or else.
Rachel Anne Hayes, of Clearwater, allegedly became enraged Wednesday at an undisclosed private residence when the unidentified 72-year-old victim said Hayes’ Facebook name was inappropriate. She told Hayes she would be willing to accept the friend request if she changed the name, which was not disclosed in a news release from the Pinellas County Sheriff’s Office.
The most intriquing question, natch, is this: What was that Facebook name?
Leonard Pitts, Jr., considers Texas’s rush to execute a man who is clearly mentally ill. A snippet:
In a rational place, it would not be news that Panetti was not killed. In a rational place, they would understand that state-sanctioned execution is a relic of frontier barbarism that leaves us all wet with the blood of the damned. In a rational place, they would say there’s something especially repugnant about applying that grisly sanction to the mentally ill, like Panetti.
But Panetti doesn’t live in a rational place. He lives in America. Worse, he lives in Texas.
They love their executions in Rick Perry’s kingdom.
State-sanctioned sadism. It’s a thing.
Many years ago when I lived in Northern Virginia, my roommates and I went out to a little backwater Mexican restaurant that my then-local rag said didn’t look like much but had great food.
While we were there, a rather large party came in, ordered and scarfed up lots of food, then picked a fight with the waiter. While the waiter was going for help, they left. In short, they bolted the check. We were quite taken aback at the effrontery.
On the bright side, at least they did not use explosives.
Authorities are seeking nine young patrons who shot off fireworks in the back of the (Philadelphia’s Dim Sum Garden–ed.) restaurant at 1020 Race St. Friday night, setting off a fire alarm and allowing them to skip out on a $90 check during the confusion.
In related gastronomic news, my two or three regular readers know that, after living in the greater Philadelphia co-prosperity sphere for over a quarter-century, I am fussy about my hoagies and cheesesteaks. Many eateries in these parts seem to think that putting some facsimile of beef and some cheese-like substance, along with random other ingredients of dubious lineage, between two pieces of bread somehow morphs the concoction into a “Philly Cheesesteak.” Usually, it’s something that, if you tried to sell it in Philly, would get you tossed into the Schuylkill after your knees were shot out.
Consequently, when I see “cheesesteak” on the menu, I ask the server to “Tell me about your cheesesteak.” If the response includes “sauce” or several other key words, I order the grilled cheese. You must be truly talented to screw up a grilled cheese.
I had a cheesesteak at a local Jersey Mike’s tonight. I must say, it was a proper cheesesteak, not just meat- and cheese-like substances on some bun-like thing.
It was almost as good as the one at Elias, which is exquisite and to die for.