Tuesday, 10 May 2005

Shack up and go to jail

John “Don’t Call Me Juan” Cole notes that the ACLU is challenging a 1805 North Carolina statute forbidding cohabitation by unmarried couples in court. For those considering living in sin elsewhere, the Tar Heel State is not alone in its opprobrium toward cohabitors:

North Carolina is one of seven states that still have laws on the books prohibiting cohabitation of unmarried couples. The others are Virginia, West Virginia, Florida, Michigan, Mississippi and North Dakota.

As a longtime opponent of such “uncommonly silly” laws, I offer the ACLU my unqualified support in this matter.

Wednesday, 20 October 2004

Sk8r bois 4 Bush in AA

Heh (þ: TigerHawk).

Monday, 16 August 2004

Revise and resubmit

Last month, I wrote the following:

Not to start a big brou-ha-ha like the recently-raging conflict over the relative “hotness” of libertarian women, but I‘ll put any five randomly selected young Mississippi women (18–35) against a comparably-selected slate of native Michiganders any day.

A couple of minor clarifications are in order. In general, the above statement is empirically valid, but one should not make the ecologically-fallacious assumption that all young native Michiganders are less attractive than all young native Mississippians, a statement that would be quite untrue. The second clarification is that, ceteris peribus, Michigan girls have somewhat cuter accents (in this gentleman’s opinion, at least), which may or may not be “hot” in your particular book.

Friday, 13 August 2004

Checking out of AA

This will probably be my last post from Ann Arbor; the hovel doesn’t have Internet access (or any other communication facilities), and Sprint gets annoyed when I use my cell phone to connect to the Internet. I think I’ll have Internet access in the motel tomorrow night, so I’ll probably have something to say tomorrow night.

Thursday, 12 August 2004

One born any minute

I’d love for someone to review the last 48 hours of my life and explain to me how, exactly, I got conned into driving two entirely different groups of people out to eat at the exact same restaurant twice in 24 hours. I really, really want to know this. I can’t possibly be that gullible.

Incidentally, I’ve about had it with today; it’s been one lousy day from start until this exact moment. Thankfully, tomorrow is only 6 hours and 25 minutes away.

Tomorrow couldn’t possibly be worse… or could it?

Update: The guy who takes on the role of “surrogate older brother” in my life emailed the following theory:

Answer: there was a chick Chris thought was cute in one or both groups; a situation, like a black light on bodily fluids, that brings out the word "Doormat" on Chris' head.

While the latter part of the statement is sadly true, I’m afraid all seven people (actually six; one Danish guy talked his way into both groups) whose asses I hauled to dinner were male. What may be even sadder is that I enjoyed both events.

Monday, 9 August 2004

I crush dissent in Ashcroft's Amerikka

I did something quite uncharacteristic today: I went out of my way to be rude to some people. A small group (I’d say 6–8 people, mostly college-age kids) of protestors or leafleters or something had set up shop in front of the graduate library, and were intent on wasting my time on my daily walk from my barely-furnished hovel to my office. The central feature of the event was a sign that said “Bush Intelligence Czar = Oxymoron”—which, I suppose, made more sense to them than it did to me, especially considering that Bush got better grades than Al Gore did in college. But why let the facts get in the way of your preconceived notions?

I suppose the proper behavior for a political scientist would have been to stop, listen to whatever they had to say, and thank them for acting in the civic spirit—and then come here and belittle them in my blog. Unfortunately for them, I was hungry, annoyed (after walking a mile), and not really in the mood for Chomsky-lite on the way to my lunch. So I blew right past them, trading barbs with a particularly moronic member of the group who insisted on shoving some paper in my face. Mea maxima culpa.

I really, really need to get out of this town.

Update: I’ve made this my entry in today’s Beltway Traffic Jam. Later, I found some of their literature (an incredibly amusing “platform” that I’m confident was not adopted in Boston), and it turns out they were LaRouchies. Now I don’t feel quite so bad…

Saturday, 31 July 2004

The Chatham House Rules

Nick Troester (apparently, it rhymes with “toaster”) is under the impression that last evening’s events fall under the Chatham House Rules. My personal perspective is that it’d be hard to enforce those rules, considering that all activities took place in public venues, but I’m still leaning toward relative confidentiality, if only for the sake of the honor of our mixed company (or at least for my continued employment).

I will, however, note that Kevin, Leslie, and I did make it to the ICPSR picnic on Saturday, something that cannot be said for others of our group.

BTW, I did find my hat… it was in my backpack all along.

Wednesday, 28 July 2004


Silly observations that don’t really deserve their own posts:

  • Yesterday in Ann Arbor was cold, rainy, and dreary—to the extent I actually had to switch on the heat in my apartment last night, lest I freeze to death (good thing I decided to have the gas switched on after all). Today, on the other hand, it’s around 80° and sunny, and supposed to stay in the 80s through the next week or so. Weird.

  • Maybe I’m getting old or something, but there’s something very disturbing about a current pop hit which has a chorus about a sexual technique. Particularly when it’s performed by someone best known for singing the theme to Disney’s “Kim Possible.” (What may even be more disturbing is I can’t figure out what sexual technique it is.)

  • Not to start a big brou-ha-ha like the recently-raging conflict over the relative “hotness” of libertarian women, but I‘ll put any five randomly selected young Mississippi women (18–35) against a comparably-selected slate of native Michiganders any day.

  • Would anyone know who Ashlee Simpson was if it weren’t for her sister?