"What kind of name is Attila Girl? Heck, you can't wage any kind of respectable war; you're just a lowly female.
--Glenn Reynolds


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Miss Attila--who is a Ms in real life--lives in the hills of Southern California with her husband, a herd of deer, and an impressive collection of old magazines. She spends a lot of time cleaning her guns, and is reachable at: littlemissattila@yahoo.com.



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Little Miss Attila
 
Saturday, April 03, 2004  


WOMAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY


So I'm trying to move my stuff to the new digs. Like some of the plug-ins in the sidebar, and my blogroll. Problem is, I couldn't even figure out where to put my SiteMeter (SizeMeter, for those of you in academia). I just don't have the hang of Movable Type yet.

Drop by and see me, though--quick! before I screw up the template and have to beg Pixy Misa to send me the backup all the way from Australia!

I feel like I'm crashing in a sleeping bag in the corner of a beautiful Upper West Side Manhattan apartment with hardwood floors: happy to be where I am, but finding it . . . ironic. Don't you think?



4/03/2004 01:07:00 AM

Friday, April 02, 2004  


OH, YES.


One more thing Pixy Misa and I have in common. Yay!


Gangsta Bitch!
You're Gangsta Bitch Barbie. You're tough and you
like it rough, and of course you like to pop a
cap in any wiggers ass.


If You Were A Barbie, Which Messed Up Version Would You Be?
brought to you by Quizilla


BTW, anyone know what a "wigger" is? Is that someone I happen to be shooting with one of my trusty sidearms? And am I supposed to file the serial numbers off of them for this gig?



4/02/2004 05:47:00 AM

Monday, March 29, 2004  


FUCKIN' SOPRANOS AGAIN. THEY'RE FUCKIN'
ALWAYS ON ON FUCKIN' SUNDAY NIGHTS, T.



My husband believes this is it: that this season will be the last of The Sopranos. After this, it'll be over. I'm starting to see one possible twist that could resolve some of the sub-plots, so he's probably right. There are lots of confrontations. Lots of, as the spouse would say, "big moments." They are headed toward an indictment or a murder, and murder is more likely. At this point, the interesting bets have to do with who might do the killing, and why? There would be a lot of suspects.

We decided against watching Deadwood, partly out of a feeling that we didn't want to be indentured servants to HBO. Of course, before The Sopranos we were still watching The X Files. Right up to the bitter end. So we had to play catch-up on our mob series. I suppose we might do that again if this wild West thing gets incredible buzz. But frankly, who wants to take their head out of New Jersey on a Sunday night after watchin' Tony and the guys? Not me.

Still, in a "I really believe in the tooth fairy" way, I can imagine the Sopranos producers changing the whole ball game in some profound fashion, and giving us one more season in which the characters would have to cope with these changes.

Let's face it: I want one more season after this. After the climax, I want the denuement.



3/29/2004 10:50:00 PM

 


MUST STOP DOUBLE-BLOGGING


Think how confusing it'll be when it's time to move the archives to the new site, and I have entries from both the old and the "nu" blog for several days. I can't help it: I'm excited about the new blog, and sentimental about the old one.

Ah, well. If you want to see what I've been up to in Munuvia, check it out here. I'll send out an official notification circa week's end, but if you want to update your bookmarks, now's as good a time as any.



3/29/2004 10:43:00 PM

 


DEATH REALLY BECOMES HER


Kelley has hit on a novel idea for making extra money:

I know I'd be an awesome ghost to have around. I'm starting a cottage industry, in fact. I am offering a special on post-mortem haunting services this week. For three easy payments of $79.99, you'll get the full Spectre package in the event of my untimely demise. The Spectre package includes three dreams in which I make a meaningful cameo appearance, three months of "Kelley noises from the Beyond" (intermittent sounds of keyboard use, mournful sighs, and a clanking chain of Diet Coke cans), as well as one full-bore spectral appearance . . .


Don't sell too hard, though: you don't want anyone to hurry you along.


3/29/2004 03:15:00 AM

Sunday, March 28, 2004  


MOVING SOON!


I have new digs all ready, courtesy of Pixy Misa at Ambient Irony, who is getting a bunch of us set up with Moveable Type. I need to make a few test entries there before officially moving. When my main posts are there rather than here, I'll post the announcement here and e-mail as many of you who have me blogrolled as I can remember (and certainly all the Alliance members and Bear Flag Leaguers--along with James, Kelley, Venomous Kate, and all the other folks on my own blogroll).

Timetable: probably somewhere between three days and a week, depending on how much time I get to spend on it. I happen to be terrible at moving, though I hope an electronic move will be easier than a physical one: less stuff to schlep around.

This is unbelievably thrilling, guys and gals: I'll have comments at the new site, and all that other grown-up stuff!





3/28/2004 02:08:00 PM

 


EIGHT YEARS VS. EIGHT MONTHS
ON THE PRAIRIE



Lileks summarizes the waste of time known as the 9/11 hearings, and concludes:


And I bring this up . . . why? Because I want to blame the Clinton administration? Look: to me that’s ancient history. That’s Flintstone time. If it weren’t for these hearings I wouldn’t give a tin fig for who didn’t do what when and where. September Eleventh was the bright red gash that separated the Now from the La-la Then, and we’ve been living in the hot spiky Now ever since. I am interested in the Now and the What Next. I don’t have much patience for people who believe that the salvation of Western Civilization depends on hiking the marginal tax rates to pre-2002 levels. But if you want to play Eight Years vs. Eight Months, fine. Just remember that before 9/11, the skies over Afghanistan were clear. After 9/11, they thrummed with the sound of B-52s until the job was done.

No small distinction.


Which pretty much says it all. But for the love of God, go read his entire fisking of the Clarke book/testimony, and of the media coverage pertaining thereto: much illumination to be had.

Via Stephen Green.





3/28/2004 03:13:00 AM

Saturday, March 27, 2004  


THESE COLORS DON'T. . . .
WELL, THERE ISN'T A LOT THEY WON'T DO.



From my cousin in Indiana:

In light of the Madrid bombing, France has raised its terror alert level from "run" to "hide."

The only two higher levels in France are "surrender" and "collaboration."



3/27/2004 11:52:00 AM

 


HE LIKES THAT SAUCER OF CREAM


As far as I can tell, Lair has changed his personal symbol over at Amish Tech Support from a Star of David to a kitten playing with a ball--and without a word of explanation. I hope it wasn't because a bunch of us were chortling over the unfortunate death of a certain Hamas founder under that very same Star of David last week.

I suspect it's because, like a cat, he likes to toy with his prey before finally dispatching it.

I might have voted for a loaf of fresh-baked bread, or a pepper plant. But then, I'm allergic to cats.


3/27/2004 02:58:00 AM

 


AND, OUT OF NOWHERE, TRAGEDY


This morning I got up to an urgent message from my mother, who "had" to talk to me immediately. Nothing noteworthy in that. The second message--after she'd tried my cell phone, with no luck--told me that my aunt's house in Walnut Creek had burned down in the middle of the night last night. My aunt is fine, but at least one pet (her dog) died in the blaze.

The house was a midcentury artifact, with an open floorplan, huge windows, a prefab oh-so-sixties fireplace, lots of wood, and a nice deck. It's where we held the majority of Christmases before I left home--and a lot of Thanksgivings, as well. In the past ten years I'd been avoiding it due to dust and pet dander--both of which I'm allergic to. But losing it is a blow.

In an odd, twisted way I almost would have preferred to hear that a family member (not my aunt, just an abstract family member) had died, because I have a psychological "folder" for that type of information. I don't have a place to put people's houses burning down in the middle of the night when there is no fucking earthquake, and no fucking wildfire nearby.

Told by those on the front lines (my mother, my cousin) that there really wasn't anything I could do from Southern California, I spent the day surfing my own emotions. In the past several hours I've been half-convinced that if I had the right name in my Rolodex I could simply call someone up (God, the Devil) and make a deal: if I just made good this-or-that bad thing I did, or changed my ways, or jumped through some hoops, I could roll back the clock and bring back my aunt's house.

The spouse tells me I'm halfway to acceptance, that wanting to bargain the event away is part of the grieving process.

The current theory is that when she got up and smoked a cigarette in the middle of the night, that she failed to extinguish it properly, and one of the pets knocked the ashtray into a wastepaper basket. It's worth noting that she also lost a great deal of time trying to rouse neighbors to call 911, since the landline had gone out by the time she attempted to call. Next-door neighbor deaf as a post without his hearing aid, no response at the second door. I think the third time was the charm, but by then the fire had progressed that much more. And it took the fire department eight more minutes to get there.

The smoke detector saved her life.

Moral of the story: check the batteries on your smoke detectors, and charge your cell phone in the same room where you sleep. Hold fire drills at least once a year. And hug your pets.


3/27/2004 01:35:00 AM

 


AMAZING


We are lucky to have this sort of young person fighting for our country. Damned lucky.


3/27/2004 12:32:00 AM

Thursday, March 25, 2004  


PROBLEM FINALLY SOLVED!


Frank J. has drawn his own map to peace in the Middle East.

(And if you can't take a joke . . .)


3/25/2004 03:26:00 PM

 


DEFEND YOURSELF. GO TO PRISON.


This story from Scotland is the naked face of gun control, and one of the most depressing things I've read in a long time.

Carl Lindsay, 25, answered a knock at his door in Salford, Greater Manchester, to find four men armed with a gun.

When the gang tried to rob him he grabbed a samurai sword and stabbed one of them, 37-year-old Stephen Swindells, four times. Mr Swindells, of Salford, was later found collapsed in an alley and died in hospital.

Lindsay, of Walkden, was found guilty of manslaughter following a three-week trial at Manchester Crown Court. He was sentenced to eight years’ imprisonment.

After the case, Detective Chief Inspector Sam Haworth said: “Four men, including the victim, had set out purposefully to rob Carl Lindsay and this intent ultimately led to Stephen Swindells’ death. “I believe the sentences passed today reflect the severity of the circumstances.”


Emphasis mine. I think I need to go puke now.




3/25/2004 03:19:00 PM

 


CLINTON BUSH ASLEEP AT THE SWITCH AGAIN


Some in the media are attempting to fix the "eight years vs. eight months" problem by either moving a lot of terrorist attacks to later dates, or retroactively starting GW's presidency sooner.

Via James.


3/25/2004 12:34:00 AM

Monday, March 22, 2004  


SELF-HATING AMERICANS


A lot of people are shocked. I'm not. Not really.




More here. There are also links to it at Little Green Footballs. Thanks to my friend the Bay Area Book Merchant for the heads up.


3/22/2004 02:05:00 AM

 


DING, DONG . . .


For those of you who haven't heard, the founder/leader of Hamas, Sheikh Ahmed Yassin, died in an Israeli air strike. Life is good.

For details, see The Command Post--as always.


3/22/2004 01:32:00 AM

 


BRAVO


Smash went to an anti-war rally this past weekend, and produced an amazing series of posts about it. Start here. Long, but well worth it.

And to think I was once one of these feeble-minded campus radicals. I'm truly ashamed.



3/22/2004 01:21:00 AM

Sunday, March 21, 2004  


ANOTHER MOVIE REVIEW:
MATCHSTICK MEN



I do love Nicholas Cage. And there he was tonight, on my very own big-screen TV.

The premise of Matchstick Men is actually rather fascinating, given the conventional wisdom that "con men play on our greed and fears." What if, sometime, someone who was the victim of a scam used it as an opportunity to get in touch with his or her true needs? What if the con became a springboard for something else entirely? "Do I dare disturb the universe? In a minute there is time for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."

It's a lovely idea, and it was nicely developed. Unfortunately, I lost my objectivity about halfway through the movie, due to the filmmakers blundering onto a hot button and provoking some emotional turbulence. After that I could only get back into the movie with my head--not my heart. I tried to tell myself that it was because of this-or-that plot contrivance on the part of the screenwriter, but I knew deep down it wasn't so.

Afterward: "One of my stupid headaches," I told my husband. "But it was a lovely film."

Rent the movie, unless you have weird father-daughter issues and don't want to feel like someone has been playing pingpong inside you.


3/21/2004 12:58:00 AM

 


IT COULD BE WORSE.


Oh, wait. I'm wrong. It couldn't.

Pirate Monkey's Harry Potter Personality Quiz
Harry Potter Personality Quiz
by Pirate Monkeys Inc.

Kelley and I wear the same outfits every day--we e-mail each other in the morning to check--and we take all the same quizzes on Saturday nights.



3/21/2004 12:54:00 AM

 


FOR THIS KIND OF INACCURATE LABELING


. . . I needed to take a quiz?

incredibly jewish
You're incredibly Jewish!


How Jewish are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

They want I should keep taking these quizzes, each more misleading than the last?

Vey's mir.

Hat tip: Kelley.

"Lucky Christian," it is.



3/21/2004 12:38:00 AM

 


KELLEY'S IN LOVE


. . . with Love. Courteney, that is.

At least, she's writing poetry to Cobain's widow.


3/21/2004 12:27:00 AM

Saturday, March 20, 2004  


WORN ON TERROR


Details are still sketchy on the battle in Pakistan.

What I'd give for some "inbeds" now. It looks like the so-called "high-value target" may not be the person we thought it was. Of course, now I've got the taste of blood in my mouth: I don't care if it's some Chechen loser. I want to go over there right now and kill him with my Glock.

You say this guy is only a car insurance salesman? Fine. I'll do him anyway, just for practice . . . (excuse me: my American hyper-aggression is showing).


3/20/2004 11:05:00 PM

 


THE FIRE THIS TIME


The Command Post is the place to be right now, as Michele Catalano offers damned-near wall-to-wall coverage of the confrontation in Pakistan. Whether we get the "high-value target" or not, we certainly have the viper's nest, and we've already taken out 50-100 of their best-trained, best-equipped troops. They are surrounded and out-gunned.

Al Qaeda is dying, and this is true even if a few VIPs slip through the net.

And happy birthday, BTW, to the Command Post; congratulations to Laurence and Michele--Laurence for creating CP, and Michele for the talent and passion she they brings to the enterprise. And their home blogs are two of my favorites, as well.

It's all good.

UPDATE: Okay, I blew it: Laurence is doing support work at Command Post (though probably more of it than he's willing to admit), and Michele/Alan are the founders. This comes from my not getting out enough in the "blogosphere." Command Post is the best, but let's face it: I'm the blogging equivalent of a nerdly girl wearing a jumper and plastic-framed glasses. If it isn't a Bear Flag League site--or James Joyner--I probably don't go there like I ought. When nerdly girls do get out, they make social gaffes.

I need to go now and bury my nose in a book; it's what I do best.


3/20/2004 01:55:00 AM

Friday, March 19, 2004  


OVER AT JAMES'S PAD . . .


we were talking about Mexican food. What's good, what isn't. What's authentic. As with so many other things, I'll have to fall back on classic definitions: I can't quite define authentic Mexican food, but I know it when I see it.

As far as TexMex is concerned, I think it's worth noting that Real Civilization, by my lights, begins in Texas. Driving across the country from Rhode Island/Maryland (along the 40, or the old "Route 66"), I realized I was home and all was well when I no longer had to ask for Tabasco with my eggs, and where Huevos Rancheros was well-made and always on the menu.

Salsa and chilis, Baby. Yum.

Life is so good here. I'm so lucky to live in the Southwest I could just scream.



3/19/2004 02:06:00 AM

 
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