Sansa was such a good puppy but now she is ded.
Oh, never mind, she is not ded, she is SLEEPT.
This fucking guy is STILL WINNING THE GOP NOMINATION RACE:
Republican presidential front-runner Donald Trump wants to bar all Muslims from entering the United States.
In a statement from his campaign, Trump called for a “total and complete shutdown” of Muslims entering the United States until elected leaders can “figure out what is going on.”
When asked by The Hill whether that would include Muslim-American citizens currently abroad, Trump spokeswoman Hope Hicks replied over email: “Mr. Trump says, ‘everyone.'”
I learned a lot about how Congress works from this piece, which was depressing:
“I used to spend ninety per cent of my constituent response time on people who call, e-mail, or send a letter, such as, ‘I really like this bill, H.R. 123,’ and they really believe in it because they heard about it through one of the groups that they belong to, but their view was based on actual legislation,” Nunes said. “Ten per cent were about ‘Chemtrails from airplanes are poisoning me’ to every other conspiracy theory that’s out there. And that has essentially flipped on its head.” The overwhelming majority of his constituent mail is now about the far-out ideas, and only a small portion is “based on something that is mostly true.” He added, “It’s dramatically changed politics and politicians, and what they’re doing.”
Toastie Amal sent in this picture of her dog for us:
who….would write this story and then decide to let the world read it, help:
These would be the same boys who, back when they were 4, were my best buds. During that rarefied period of my life, I was the most important girl (nay, human being) in their lives.
We shared numerous passions such as rock-collecting, dinosaurs, nature walks, Lego, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movies, Star Wars, all things Lord of the Rings, as well as books. These are now only precious memories. Your brain already knows this all too well, but the heart still hurts when this irrefutable fact is hammered home with firm finality on your son’s wedding day.
Why Didn’t Anyone Stop Doctor Hardy? (HOLY SHIT)
The Globe found that, over three decades, more than a dozen people in positions of authority — college administrators, hospital supervisors, clinic owners, medical colleagues, and regulators — were told, with various degrees of specificity, of Hardy’s alleged sexual assaults and his inappropriate contact with patients, including some who were sedated.
From Hardy’s days at Princeton forward, the response to nearly every complaint was minimal or passive, an examination of state documents and interviews with dozens of Hardy’s classmates, colleagues, and patients shows. Sometimes, especially in his Princeton years, this was because his alleged victims were reluctant to go public with formal complaints. Sometimes, especially as Hardy built his practice, little or nothing was done because of reluctance by his peers or supervisors to move against an increasingly prominent physician who seemed to have a way to explain away each accusation.
Trust women, yo:
My general practitioner never once recommended that I see an ob/gyn for my unidentifiable pain, and my ob/gyn didn’t seem at all alarmed by my ER incident.
Having read about the procedure for diagnosing endometriosis, I practically demanded that my doctor prescribe it. After trying to argue with me, he begrudgingly scheduled for me for a transvaginal ultrasound that was necessary to rule out anything else before my diagnostic surgery.
Even though I got what I wanted, I was terrified. More than anything, I was worried that this surgery — my first ever — would be all for nothing. I would spend an absurd amount of money on an invasive procedure, only to find out that no, I didn’t have endometriosis. Instead, my doctors were right, and just I couldn’t handle my pain. I was exaggerating very normal symptoms. I was “fine.”
I am going to explain a lil comment moderation mechanism to you, bc it can happen to established Toasties who then feel a little hurt that a fairly inocuous comment got murdered! If you think a comment is inappropriate, and hit “report,” two things happen:
- I get an email with the info that said comment has been reported, at which point I can reply “approve” or “delete.”
- In the interim, the comment disappears and goes into moderation, where it will stay until I get to and deal with that email.
What this means is that the comment will appear in the moderation queue, and during that time will be indistinguishable from any comment left by a rando. Now, if an established Toastie were to say something like “oh, wow, I don’t really think this is funny” about something, we wouldn’t delete that (unless it was on a Two Monks post and I hadn’t had my coffee yet or was on my period or or whatever.) If a burner account said that, we would just delete it, because YOU’RE not funny, burner account.
THE CATCH BEING, right, that if an established Toastie says “oh, wow, I really don’t think this is funny,” and someone is all “FUCK YOU, IT’S FUNNY AS SHIT” and reports it (sometimes people report the strangest things, like “this person used swears in their comment”) and I don’t instantly see the report email and re-approve the comment, it would be easy for an admin to see that in moderation and cheerfully kill it and go on with their day, and then when I go to deal with it, IT IS GONE AS THOUGH IT NEVER EXISTED. And then the established Toastie is sad. Which makes ME sad, especially if the comment was mildly critical about my religious beliefs, and someone reported it out of concern for my feelings, because I am a big girl and you can be critical of my choices, so long as they are not dog or Hamilton-related.
So, basically, if a comment of yours is killed and you are a regular commenter, that is almost certainly what has happened, but you can also email me to find out.
Why the USWNT cancelled their game in Hawaii:
On Friday at practice, we lost a teammate, Megan Rapinoe, to an ACL injury. Megan’s injury took place while playing on a subpar training field. The grass on the training pitch itself was in bad shape. All along the pitch, sewer plates and plastic coverings were laying on the sidelines.
This decision wasn’t about “turf vs. grass.” This was about field conditions and player safety.
It wasn’t until we got to Aloha Stadium the next day — the day before the match against Trinidad and Tobago — that we finally saw, for the first time, how bad the stadium’s field truly was. The conditions were such that our coach shortened practice to a brief 30-minute training session so we wouldn’t risk injury before the game. There were sharp rocks ingrained all over the field. They were everywhere. The artificial turf was actually pulling up out of the ground, and the turf itself was both low-grade and aging. This was a playing surface that looked like it hadn’t been replaced in years.
A Toastie undergoing a breakup was directed to Autostraddle’s break-up advice piece, and it has a lot of staying power:
We are trained in this Republican sappy fuck of a society peppered with Sandra Bullock movies that somehow his haircut and not liking the things you like are superficial and all that matters is that you love each other. THIS IS NOT TRUE. Loving someone and making a life with them are separate spheres, they have nothing to do with each other. When you find someone where there is both, that’s when you win. But they’re not contingent qualities.
Speaking of Autostraddle:
After he cheated, I curled up on my friend’s couch. She was the first person I’d told I was queer. She had mixed feelings about it. I had mixed feelings about her — another straight girl in a long line of them. We got drunk on white Russians she’d made with rice milk and watched a Phillip Seymour Hoffman movie. He was still alive then. She said, “If I was even a little bit gay, I’d go out with you.” When she fell asleep, it was hard not to lean against her. Sitting up straight was uncomfortable, but I did it anyway.
AN INTERVIEW WITH THE GUY WHO SELLS THE AARON BURR UNDERWEAR (he mostly just makes cider):
Finally, what do you think Aaron Burr would think of having his signature across a lady’s behind?
Speaking of city elite, I think Aaron Burr would consider himself a sophisticated gentleman. I think he and Hamilton both had aspirations to grandeur and considered themselves “more honorable” than common men. Yet both of them had affairs and were obsessed with women. I’m sure Burr, the aristocrat, would be horrified to see his name on women’s panties, but as a desirous and egotistical man he would secretly be pleased as punch.
If you didn’t read yesterday’s piece about Mormon feminists on the brink, I would do so:
I say I left the church, but there’s leaving and then there’s leaving. I stopped attending. I told my parents I didn’t believe anymore. I drank coffee and alcohol and wore tank tops and let my friends gradually figure it out. But I never removed my name from the official rolls of the church. Every year, when they announce their membership numbers, I am still included. Next year that number will finally be one less.
Tyler Coates drew my attention to this Jingle Bell Rock Mean Girls dance tutorial, and I am pleased:
Here is Sansa sleeping on Steve:
