It's hustle-up-the-rent time here at Ilyka Damen, so I got nothin' except for a handful of goodies snagged from elsewhere:

First, via Absinthe & Cookies, it's Kathy of the Cake Eater Chronicles on that old double standard:

. . . I'm going to play the part of the devil's advocate here and say that the reason most women do not want to partake in casual sex is because some just don't like how they feel about the whole business in the harsh, cold, raccoon-eyed, light of day.

It's one thing to be Carrie Bradshaw at night. It's entirely another to be Carrie Bradshaw the morning after.

Those last two sentences sum up some of my icky morning-after feelings oh, too well.

I think this may be one of those things old Glenn Reynolds would link with the line "cats and dogs living together," or something: Trish Wilson and The Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler discover common ground:

What was amazing was that we agreed on something. The people over there discovered right-wing fathers' rights nutball Robert Lindsay Cheney, and they weren't impressed. I've known about Cheney for about ten years.

This post, "I Don't Hate The Jews, I Hate Everyone," on Cheney's blog caught their attention. I see the guy is still a raving lunatic even ten years after I learned about him. I couldn't make heads nor tails of his ranting, which was always par for the course for him.

(Note: Cheney's post is linked in Trish's; me, I prefer not to do so--but see, that's all the more reason why you should click to go read the whole thing.) The raving moonbats, they are the real uniters-not-dividers in this country, I swear--because most of us, most of the time, can agree on what "crazy" looks like.

Finally, everything at Kesher Talk is good as usual, but I'll single out just a couple recent entries. First, a great post on who constitutes the new "silent majority":

The New Silent Majority. Vodkapundit has another anecdote from a liberal hawk friend in the closet, and asks, "Could folks like us be the new Silent Majority?"

Yes. Yes. And yes. I formed an entire social circle in NYC out of people who are hawkish neo-con liberals, who have to be in the closet around their lefty friends (which is 75% of Manhattan, especially in the arts and social services, like most of these people). We have a listserv, and go to events, and socialize together and everything. A lot of us met through campaigning for Bush. Others met through LGF comment threads. There are 50 people on this list.

And this one that Judith kindly sent me a link to earlier in the week that features the lyrics to a Dar Williams song called "When I Was a Boy:"

I was a kid that you would like, just a small boy on her bike,
Riding topless, yeah, I never cared who saw.
My neighbor come outside to say, "Get your shirt,"
I said "No way, it's the last time, I'm not breaking any law."
And now I'm in a clothing store,
and the sign says less is more,
More that's tight means more to see,
more for them, not more for me.
That can't help me climb a tree in ten seconds flat

I never felt I was a boy per se as a child, but you know something?--I totally did the topless thing. I got away with it twice: Once by wheedling a kindly uncle and the second time by irritating the living daylights out of my babysitter (it was Sacramento in the summertime, meaning 100 degrees and miserable out). The second time ended it; my brother, the babysitter and I were walking down the street when a neighbor gave me a look of horror that sent a current of shame coursing through me. I'd been all right with not having a shirt on--hey, I was seven only--up until then.

So there you go. I think I'll go try the topless thing on the corner now and see if that doesn't help scare up the rent. What? Why are you people always looking at me like that?

Posted by Ilyka at March 2, 2005 07:00 PM in hell is other people