Link Roundup! -The Toast

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“No, I haven’t seen the extra roll of toilet paper. I’ve been here all morning.”

This is about sturgeons, but it’s about other stuff too:

In the early morning of Oct. 1, 2007, a volunteer for the Oregon Dept. of Fish and Wildlife (ODFW) approached the sturgeon pond at the Bonneville Dam and found it empty. There was no evidence of struggle, no footprints, no suspicious debris—just the still brown water where seven giant fish had been swimming the day before.

Headlines like “Sturgeon didn’t walk off on their own” and “Game police pursue poachers” flooded the back pages of blogs and newspapers for little over a week. Photos of the five-foot-long, cartilage-cased creatures appeared in print like children on the back of milk cartons.

We Hunted The Mammoths is an excellent site that draws attention to the dumb shit that MRAs are doing online. I barely ever read it, because I am much, much happier not knowing what MRAs are doing online, but I stopped by last night and laughed so hard I cried (it is about how pancake-eating women will try to keep you from being your best self):

Now, if this thing about pancakes seems like a weirdly specific complaint about contemporary women, well, that’s because it’s really a complaint about one particular woman, that woman being Kyle’s current girlfriend, an admitted pancake eater who, on one recent occasion actually delayed his Saturday morning trip to the gym by an hour. 

I had a fascinating conversation on Twitter yesterday about wakes and funerals. Basically, that those of us were raised Catholic have seen a LOT more dead bodies than the general population! I grew up going to three-day wakes, where the immediate family would receive mourners for two multi-hour sessions a day, and the kids would mill around the basement of the funeral home once they got bored (immediately.) How many dead bodies have you seen?

I regret none of the time I spent reading about old Warner Brothers cartoons today:

With this bit, Jones and Maltese are goosing their triumphal, self-satisfied 1949 audience, hard. Turn around and look behind you: the Road Runner has been a passive participant, very nearly a bystander, all along. All he did in the first set piece was run away. All he did in the second was stop running, then passively hold up Wile E.’s tray lid. In the third, he threw a boomerang, but didn’t really accomplish anything; what stopped Wile E., and what humiliated him, was his own boomerang coming back. In the fourth, all the Road Runner did was notstop, not react or respond—he was inert, literally: an object in motion that merely continued moving. In this one, he merely existed as an object the main character pursued. He might just as well have been a cheeseburger, or a briefcase full of money, or a rug that really tied the room together.

That’s right: the Road Runner is a MacGuffin! He facilitates drama by motivating one party into conflict with another, but is himself narratively inert. The drama arises between his pursuer, Wile E., and the forces that oppose his efforts to obtain the MacGuffin. But, if Wile E. Coyote is a character, and the Road Runner is the MacGuffin, what is the opposing force? What is the conflict?

A Toastie ran across this piece I wrote for The Hairpin back in the day, and it still me.


“Promise me something,” the doctor told her. “Promise me you’ll never put another Q-tip inside of your ear.”

Q-tips are one of the most perplexing things for sale in America. Plenty of consumer products are widely used in ways other than their core function—books for leveling tables, newspapers for keeping fires aflame, seltzer for removing stains, coffee tables for resting legs—but these cotton swabs are distinct. Q-tips are one of the only major consumer products, if not the only, whose main purpose is precisely the one the manufacturer explicitly warns against.

The Establishment has a good piece on male survivors of sexual assault.

Oh, there is so much going on in this piece about a PUA moron who gets exposed to his community:

Then she started reading a post titled “A Breakdown of All My Lays.” “I’m going to analyze my own experience with women in order to shed some light on what women are really like,” Jared had written. What followed was a list of his sexual conquests, evaluated with a numerical score that ranked each woman’s face, body, and personality, as well as a brief description. There was something horrifyingly familiar about number four: “Frisky little redhead, early twenties. Not very hot and talked too much … I bailed on her because I wasn’t that into it. I see her from time to time, and she’s letting herself go a little.” C. screamed so loudly that her boyfriend jumped out of the shower to see what was wrong.

On a personal note, my kid now officially has a diagnosis, in addition to an informal diagnosis as “the most adorable child I have ever met,” which came from several highly smitten doctors along the way. My kid continues to be very, very rad, and I am very grateful to live in a time when there are so many cool and interesting people who share said diagnosis writing about their lives and their experiences.

On a parental note, if you have a daughter who you think might not be neurotypical, and your ped waves it off because it doesn’t fit the (highly male) textbook presentation, keep pushing. It can look very different, and a smiley, affectionate, well-behaved girl who doesn’t stim can slide under the radar for years, and miss out on a lot of important support as a result. Listen to your intuition. You can email me if you have questions, I’ll try to point you in sensible places.

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