In Deltona, Florida, the road outside Pine Ridge Middle School read “SCOHOL” — twice. However, there’s no evidence the painter is a Pine Ridge graduate.
Dave Barry’s Year in Review examines the mysteries of 2014. Why were all those people pouring ice on themselves?
I’m going to Andalucia for two weeks — and I just used two-thirds of my Spanish for the headline.
Darren Miller, who blogs at Right on the Left Coast, and Diana Senechal, who blogs here, will be guest-blogging. Darren is a high school math teacher in Sacramento. Diana teaches philosophy at a New York City high school.
In Confessions of a Prep-School Feminist in the New Yorker, Curtis Sittenfeld (she’s female), recalls her days at Groton, where she served as “the self-appointed gender police.”
As a senior, she wrote a column in the school newspaper about Groton’s Group for Female Awareness. The Washington Post reprinted it, after editing out her positive comments about the school.
Twenty-one years later, Sittenfeld realizes she “cherry-picked examples to support my argument, and I made Groton look bad in ways that weren’t specific to Groton; similar stories could have been told about any other élite boarding school.”
“Looking back, I fear that I wasted my youth being self-righteous; I might be one of the few Americans who thinks she should have spent more of high school cutting class and drinking beer.”
I vaguely remember going to a “women’s lib” conference when I was in high school in the late ’60s and taking offense when construction workers whistled at me. (I had a red dress so short that I later wore it as a shirt.) In college, I belonged to a women’s discussion group. Did we call it a “solidarity group?” It was something like that.
The movement really was liberating for women like me, born in the early 1950s. We didn’t have to manufacture grievances back in the day.
An American jazz brass band touring in France pulled to the side of the road and started playing for the cows. It turns out that French cows really like jazz.
On McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Kendra Eash offers a Generic Brand Video that’s eerily familiar — and very funny.
You know, if you hint that maybe, just, you know, maybe, it might be kind of okay if a photographer with strong beliefs to the contrary doesn’t want to take on the job of photographing a same-sex wedding, you suddenly become one to be shunned as a wrong-thinker.
Or, if you mention shopping at Hobby Lobby, because that’s literally the only craft store within 100 miles, you’re told “Oh, they oppress women (because, apparently, they won’t give their workers the Plan B pill for free). You shouldn’t shop there.”
Ricki has known people who’d pass the most progressive purity tests –“and they were huge (forgive the word but it’s the only one that fits) douchebags. Just awful to other people, selfish, ungenerous, snarky.”
Disgusting, writes Andrew Sullivan. “If this is the gay rights movement today – hounding our opponents with a fanaticism more like the religious right than anyone else – then count me out.”
In 2009, Eich shared the view of gay marriage that Barack Obama held, instead of the view that Dick Cheney held, writes Instapundit.
“Talking about ourselves . . . triggers the same sensation of pleasure in the brain as food or money,” reports the Wall Street Journal.
“Forty percent of everyday speech is devoted to telling others about what we feel or think, say researchers. That’s because it feels so great.
“Self-disclosure is extra rewarding,” said Harvard neuroscientist Diana Tamir.
In several tests, they offered the volunteers money if they chose to answer questions about other people, such as President Obama, rather than about themselves, paying out on a sliding scale of up to four cents. Questions involved casual matters such as whether someone enjoyed snowboarding or liked mushrooms on a pizza. Other queries involved personality traits, such as intelligence, curiosity or aggression.
Despite the financial incentive, people often preferred to talk about themselves and willingly gave up between 17% and 25% of their potential earnings so they could reveal personal information.
Via Roger Sweeny, who wonders “if this is one reason why teaching, even with all the crap, can be so pleasurable, even addictive. If you talk about what you know and care about, you are in a certain sense talking about yourself — and the more personal your teaching, the more true that is.”
The tears of a clown may be because no one’s around to take the place of today’s performers. Here, Roberto Alagna (center) performing with Nuccia Focile in ‘Pagliacci’ during a dress rehearsal at the Metropolitan Opera.
A national clown shortage may be approaching, reports the New York Daily News. “Membership at the country’s largest trade organizations for the jokesters has plunged over the past decade as declining interest, old age and higher standards among employers align against Krusty, Bozo and their crimson-nosed colleagues.”