Listen up, cuz I’m gonna be brief:
Who wrote the thing, Sontag or Rieff?
Conservative; Sorelist —
Who wrote Mind of Moralist?
Was someone around here a thief?
Make it TWICE as big, man.
It does no good to state the obvious to some people – quoting here from Christopher Hitchens –
[W]e have no assurance that Muslim women put on the burqa or don the veil as a matter of their own choice. A huge amount of evidence goes the other way. Mothers, wives, and daughters have been threatened with acid in the face, or honor-killing, or vicious beating, if they do not adopt the humiliating outer clothing that is mandated by their menfolk. This is why, in many Muslim societies, such as Tunisia and Turkey, the shrouded look is illegal in government buildings, schools, and universities. Why should Europeans and Americans, seeking perhaps to accommodate Muslim immigrants, adopt the standard only of the most backward and primitive Muslim states? The burqa and the veil, surely, are the most aggressive sign of a refusal to integrate or accommodate. Even in Iran there is only a requirement for the covering of hair, and I defy anybody to find any authority in the Quran for the concealment of the face.
Some people will still enjoin us to “listen to women’s voices,” as if annihilating yourself as a presence in the world by wearing a burqa or niqab is a page out of Our Bodies Ourselves. They will assure us that banning the burqa makes the state into an “active instrument of patriarchy” – as if the burqa itself is not, for millions of people, the globe’s most eloquent expression of the most repressive patriarchy imaginable.
At least this writer is honest enough to note the huge, and growing, number of full or partial burqa/niqab bans, especially across Europe; but she’s not honest enough to note the absence in those countries of significant social problems arising from the bans. Or to note the enormous majorities – including, in many cases, among Muslims – for the bans.
How did it train them to do that?
This guy did the math.
When grilled at trial in the lawsuit over Asian-American admissions about the “Dean’s Interest List,” a confidential list of applicants with ties to big donors whose admission rate is higher even than legacy applicants, Harvard’s dean of admissions, William Fitzsimmons, called the list “important for the long-term strength of the institution.” Earlier, during a deposition, he described legacy as “essential to Harvard’s well-being.” But Fitzsimmons couldn’t point to a shred of data to support these claims. In any case, the colleges don’t need the money. The eight Ivy League schools have a combined endowment of more than $100 billion, which they retain from their wealthy alumni in part because of the massive tax break they receive as nonprofits, a status that seemingly only can be defended on the premise that they promote class mobility.
… Duke officials said that the university was settling [a lawsuit] only to avoid the costs and incoveience of literation.
*************
It’s been corrected.
*************
UD thanks Jeremy.
I mean, talk about overcoming adversity. She had her heart set on being a suicide bomber and killing hundreds of men, women, and children. She got arrested all dressed up and ready to go — in full suicide-bomb gear.
Instead of sitting around feeling sorry for herself for undeploying, she applied to university. Something to do between vest fittings.
But her past keeps catching up with her. Universities keep throwing her out.
********************
UD proposes that this woman approach Rick Singer with some serious money. Surely she’s got some ISIS cash. He can get her into Stanford.
You jest cain’t keep a good ol’ boy on script.
His mentor, Jesse Helms, would be proud.
Scathing Online Schoolmarm appreciates the fine Italian hand of this NYT writer, who weaves a subtle tapestry of aesthetics and larceny in this article.
Absolute kleptocracy corrupts absolutely; and if you’re not careful, seventy percent of your population is going to vote for a clown who, as his first act, dissolves your parliament.
… has placed a flamboyance of flamingos in Garrett Park’s Porcupine Woods.
As seen on UD‘s morning walk. She’s back from Harpers Ferry, having taken the MARC train to get there and the Amtrak from Chicago (an hour late) to get back.
It’s an insanely busy Saturday in town – there’s the farmer’s market, a plant swap (UD has nothing to swap, but would like to take, if they’ll let her), yard sales everywhere, etc. If you’re local, it’s a good day to see GP.
… says George Herbert, and how can UD doubt it when the two women she happens to have hung out with at Ledge House in Harpers Ferry turned out to be an attorney for Transparency International and the manager of a crematorium? Two random individuals at my B&B, one tracking our sin, the other reducing us to dust…
The trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption and this mortal must put on immortality.
For Herbert, there was that third step. When your sinful life ended, you were returned to dust, but THEN (trumpet flourish)!
********************************
“It takes a normal body an hour or two to burn,” mused the manager as we gazed at this view; “but a really really obese person can take up to five.”
She didn’t mention any grease fires.
*************
UPDATE: Yikes. The story behind this spectacular view.
Worked. Like a charm. The 6:03 from Union Station stopped and took me from Garrett Park to Harpers Ferry, just as it said it would.
The tricky part was finding Ledge House. UD, on foot and alone, with night approaching, and in a mountain town where most streets are steep inclines, made every mistake possible and then some. She chatted with half the town in her effort to find the place.
Everyone – including the man who took me to a steep crumbly poison ivy ridden path he swore would get me there (I didn’t take the path) – was very friendly. And of course GPS was trying to help me too. Every wrong route I tried opened up onto gobsmacking views of rushing rivers, bridges, rock cliffs, green hills, and clear evening skies with an almost full moon.
Eventually, her ancient heart pounding, UD got to Henry Clay Street, where the GPS lady assured her she had reached her destination.
The house – way the hell up some cruddy steps – looked wrong. UD had no choice but to trudge the cruddy steps.
While resting halfway, she checked her email, which included congratulations from Amy at Bonhams – at yesterday’s New York auction, our latest Fangor sold for over a hundred thousand dollars.
Naturally this news gave me a second wind and I finished the course like a Marine recruit.
Where was I? This was a private house, with a big For Sale sign in front of it. GPS had stopped me too soon and sent me up the wrong street. Now – eyeing the cemetery that was the only other game in town – I had to go all the way back down to Henry Clay.
Where, glowing with charm and a Southern garden in dusky shadows, stood Ledge House.