To the attention of my readers in the greater Ann Arbor area: help! Any and all assistance greatly appreciated (via email).

I think evidence of middle age is when you start to take interest in neighborhood revitalization efforts. Next thing you know, I’ll be showing up at resident association meetings and writing churlish letters to the editor.

Brian J. Noggle explains the physics behind getting “free” stuff (well, it’s not free—usually, someone else paid for it and got screwed over) from vending machines, an art mastered by many a college student over the years.

My advice: although “tipping” the vending machine may not vend free product (as the labels say), it usually manages to dislodge any loosely-hanging items that failed to vend properly. Just don’t do it when anyone else is around.

I was puzzling today over the semantics of the term “laundry.”

When clothes are on your body, they are not laundry. But when you toss them into a pile, basket, or hamper, and they are waiting to be washed, they become laundry. They are laundry while they are being washed, dried, and folded.

But when you put them away, into a closet or drawer, they cease to be laundry.

All it seems to do here is rain… I feel like I accidentally moved back to England or something. This also means the jackasses at Home Depot have rescheduled the installation for the trim around my front door (never mind that they are doing the work indoors), meaning another few days of me staring at bare doorframe in the living room.

If that weren’t annoying enough, the good folks at a certain Oxford bar (who otherwise have given me good service in the past, hence my lack of interest in casting aspersions on them publicly) managed to lose my debit card Friday night while they were holding it to secure my tab. One might suspect that the universe was conspiring against one’s efforts to have a social life, if one were the paranoid type. (One also drank a little too much beer and has been regretting it for the past two days.)

On the other hand, I do have a spiffy custom cap (well, actually a tam), gown, and hood on the way in plenty of time for the fall convocation, so there’s that at least.

Matt Stinson would support a constitutional amendment forbidding Britney Spears from getting married again. Apart from the unfairness of singling out Ms. Spears for constitutional opprobrium (surely, the violations perpetrated by Jennifer Lopez and Larry King are equally deplorable), conservatives—as opposed to libertarians—might legitimately be concerned that such an amendment would lead to widespread sympathy for Ms. Spears engaging in nonmarital* sex, and—if we are to believe the cited Mr. Sullivan’s views on same-sex marriage—increased promiscuity by Ms. Spears and other individuals prohibited from the benefits of legal marriage.

On a more legalistic level, one might be concerned that such an amendment amounts to a bill of attainder and deprives Ms. Spears of equal protection (particularly if Ms. Spears is subjected to some nonmarital abuse), although it is unclear whether a constitutional amendment can be unconstitutional in its own right; an amendment reducing or increasing the Senate representation of any state in which Ms. Spears resides would clearly be unconstitutional, as would have any amendment passed in 1800 restricting someone from importing Ms. Spears as a slave, but these are clearly “corner cases” in the law. Such questions would no doubt lead to great controversy between the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals—which has jurisdiction over Nevada, undoubtably the site of any future Spears “marriage”—and the Supreme Court, inevitably leading to a further decline in public respect for both institutions.

Thus, and for reasons of good taste, I must decline Mr. Stinson’s implicit invitation to join his effort to amend the constitution. Nonetheless we should remain vigilant that the institution of marriage remain the sacrosanct cornerstone of American society. Or at least retain the possibility that Ms. Spears might, eventually, come to her senses and marry the proprietor of this weblog.

I seem to have struck a nerve with my (admittedly off-the-cuff) criticism of critics of popular music.

I think Jay gets to the heart of much of my critique, but there’s another component of it as well. One often hears that “band X is a ripoff of band Y.” Band X need not have covered any of band Y’s songs—all they have to do is “sound like” band Y. This has always struck me as something of a silly critique; if people like what Pearl Jam sounds like, and Pearl Jam isn’t making any more songs, why should we complain if Creed makes some songs that sound like something Pearl Jam might have performed? I could understand the critique if Creed went out and covered every song on Ten, or if Pearl Jam were still releasing new albums, but the critique as it stands seems rather odd.

There is one other point I should clarify from my previous post; I made a point of including “NPR listeners” among the group of similarly-afflicted snobs. I actually have no problem with NPR listeners in general, although I do have a problem with NPR listeners who make a point of telling everyone they meet that they listen to NPR. (The classic quote on NPR is, alas, missing from the memorable quotes page for NewsRadio in the Internet Movie Database.)

I have two Gmail invites to spare. Email me if you’re interested. All gone!

The first rule of Fight Club is, you do not talk about Fight Club.

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News like this makes me happy I decided to get an apartment in Belhaven rather than living in Ridgeland or northeast Jackson.

Of course, knowing my luck, this coming year will be the year Jackson finally decides to fix Fortification Street (which drives like it was last resurfaced during the Nixon administration) and they find the cash to stick in all the speed humps and roundabouts they want to put in the neighborhood.

Since it’s Flag Day, it must also be my “half-birthday,” a useful modern invention for those of us with December birthdays who got cheated by fate out of a proper commemoration of our actual birthdays. (Interestingly enough, both of my parents and my first cousin also have December birthdays, and my birthday is exactly between my parents’ birthdays. Numerologists would have a field day with all this, of course.)

Dan Drezner discusses a Chronicle article ($) on the newspaper clippings that academics post on and around their doors. When I had an office door, my postings were on the mundane side: office hours, a Wall Street Journal editorial on eminent domain abuse in Mississippi, and a couple of forgettable political cartoons. After 9/11 they were joined by a printed U.S. flag that the university administration sent out en masse. Perhaps I will be more creative at Millsaps.

Laura of Apartment 11D’s art discussion goes after ‘performance artist’ Andrea Fraser, who’s blazing a trail only previously trod by the likes of Linda Lovelace, Traci Lords, and Ron Jeremy.

The machine Signifying Nothing is hosted on had some serious surgery last night (a complete Debian sid reinstall onto some xfs partitions, a large memory boost, a case transplant, a “new” Maxtor IDE controller and new boot disk, and about a hundred other changes), since there was some mysterious flakiness I suspect had something to do with bad RAM and I had lots of decent parts sitting around that would be of better use on gateway (named for its role, not the company) than gathering dust. Oddly enough, everything still seems to be working after less than an hour of tweaks.

The only downside: if you commented or trackbacked (or posted, for that matter) after about 4 pm yesterday, your comment/trackback didn’t make it into the backup, so it’s lost. Well, not lost, but I’m not going to bother trying to get it out of the old PostgreSQL installation on the old boot disk.

I have come to the conclusion that slippers just aren’t sold in the summer in Mississippi. They’ll probably have to wait until this coming winter and be a birthday gift.

The good news is, Hallmark had something nice that I think will work as a gift, even if it wasn’t exactly what was requested. Now I just have to figure out how to mail it…

Steven Taylor thinks we shouldn’t go overboard in naming things for Ronald Reagan, a position I generally agree with.

I could get behind the idea of letting Sacagawea share the dollar coin with a series of dead presidents not otherwise honored on American currency, though. Coupled with stopping the presses on the $1 bill in favor of pumping out a lot more $2s (and dollar coins), I think people would be reasonably tolerant of a changeover.

The Home Depot sucks monkey balls. ’Nuff said.

Well, the conspiracy theorists will have to spin a new yarn about Disney burying Michael Moore’s apolitical magnum opus for political ends, as the Weinstein brothers have snagged themselves a sweetheart deal to get Disney to sell themselves the rights to Fahrenheit: 9/11.

So now we’ll all get to see if it measures up in over-the-top melodramatic impact to The Day After Tomorrow, which Julian Sanchez characterizes as a virtual ad for Bush/Cheney 2004, while a commenter at Dan Drezner’s place calls it “the Left Behind for the environmental left.” More importantly, this news goes to show you that free speech, even when illicitly pursued on someone else’s dime (apparently the Weinstein boys don’t quite understand this whole “owner-employee” relationship thing), is alive and well in America. Hallelujah!

Both Trio and the Superintendent think there’s too much “ass crack” on display in American educational establishments. Great minds…

Matt Yglesias broadens his perspective with a trip to the Outer Banks of North Carolina, with the following observation:

I’ve been surprised to discover that southerners really do say “y’all” all the time.

Meanwhile, Kevin Drum discovers that people in different parts of the country refer to carbonated soft drinks by different names. There may be hope for John Kerry in flyover country yet…

Well, not exactly. While ego-surfing last night, I came across this obituary for “Uncle Brock Sides,” a Confederate veteran who died in Texas in 1914.

On this page, there’s also mention of a Brock Sides, who may or may not be the Confedarate veteran mentioned above. This Brock Sides would be my third cousin twice removed, if I'm counting generations correctly. His great-great uncle, Benjamin Franklin Sides (a popular name for children born in 1786, I suppose), was my great-great-great grandfather.

And another Brock Sides was a Gilchrist Studios National Poetry Month Contest winner in 2000, at the age of 13, for this anti-abortion poem.

Josh Chafetz isn’t entirely thrilled about his appearance being compared by Jonah Goldberg to that of a college sophomore.

You think that’s bad? My mom thinks my dissertation chair (who’s quite a bit older than me) looks younger than I do, at 28-and-change.

For the second time in two days, I have been waited on at a restaurant on the Oxford Square (last night, Proud Larry’s; tonight, Old Venice Pizza Company) by a waitress with a stud nosering. I guess they must be “in” now.

Ted Barlow has an eminently sensible post on how relatives of political candidates should be treated (and, as is par for the course, attracts a bevy of moonbats in the comments who disagree).

However, being a single male, I reserve the right to make light of how Jenna and/or Barbara Bush dress if they get Alexandra Kerry’d. That’s just the American way.

Both Nick Troester and Brian J. Noggle note Michelle Malkin’s Wednesday TownHall.com column on the literati set’s embrace of Jessica Cutler (“Washingtonienne”) and Ana Marie Cox (“Wonkette”). I’m not sure I agree with everything Malkin says, but I too find something slightly unseemly about this glorification of skanking one’s way to the top.

Apropos of the same topic, Sara Butler wonders if Culter’s actions are another strike against female interns in Washington who want to be taken seriously.

Update: Joy Larkin agrees with Malkin as well.