So I’m over at Metafilter this morning, reading about how The National Review has decided to let columnist Ann Coulter go, and I’m genuinely amazed that anyone could view her as a martyr to free speech. This is the woman who called her editors spineless girly-boys (among other things) on national television and in the Washington Post when they refused to print a column where she angrily called for the detainment of all “swarthy males” in the wake of last month’s terrorist attack. The National Review is under no obligation to print anything she writes, and if they reach an editorial impasse and refuse to print an individual column, that’s not the same thing as censorship. Coulter was not let go because of a difference of opinion or because her editors feared the backlash from a politically correct Left. As National Review editor Jonah Goldberg so eloquently points out, her syndicated column was dropped because of poor writing and her subsequent insubordination in the national press. “Ann didn’t fail as a person…” Goldberg writes, “she failed as WRITER, which for us is almost as bad.”
What are you doing to stop the madness? This is me recently with friends in the Penn State Monty Python Society, pretending to be protestors. Hey hey! Ho ho! The lion’s balls have got to go! I’m the one in the red, and the sign I’m carrying reads, simply, HONK. You’d be surprised how many people did.
I find, quite suddenly, that I have too much to read. Last year, I made myself a promise that I failed to keep–I was going to re-read Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury, and I wanted to do it before Halloween. I wanted to really experience October and remember a book I haven’t read in…my gods, has it really been eight years? Yeah, I suppose it has. But I was distracted by something else, another book or too little time, and I never got around to it. This year, I’ve made myself the same promise. But I’m desperately in love with the book I’m reading right now, Michael Chabon’s The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, and I have five hundred more pages to go. And on top of that, the film of Alan Moore’s From Hell opens in less than three weeks, and I would like to be finished reading that before going to see the film. I often feel like I read too slowly, but it’s rarely built up like this. It’s a nice sort of pressure, sure–too much of a good thing–but it’s pressure nonetheless. Maybe I should have learned how to speed-read.
So it’s come to this. I’m talking about people cutting off their feet. And to an audience of how many? one? If I’m lucky. When I started this weblog, I worried that I’d have nothing to say, and now I’m worried that I might be proving myself right. I don’t really care about a complete stranger chopping off his paralyzed feet for money, so why am I linking to it? Maybe it’s because it’s Monday and I’ve spent the entire afternoon typing equations, scanning pages, going blind from boredom. Yeah, sure, why not.
One of the funniest things I think I’ve ever heard on television is “…from the writer of Armageddon.” Silly rabbit, I thought. Armageddon didn’t have any writers. So I gave that show, NBC’s Undercover, a miss and watched Alias on ABC instead. Pretty cool stuff…which, now that I look at it again, was written by a screenwriter from…Armageddon. Dangnabbit. At least the universe is not without a sense of humor this morning. Now if I could just figure out a way to watch Buffy: the Vampire Slayer when I don’t have UPN…
Oh, and I’m not entirely sure how I ended up here, but I want out. God bless that back button.