Madrigal, Natter:

If one friend celebrates her son's birth in an earth-mother ritual that involves covering him with mud and another does so by having a bit of his penis chopped off - I don't really see why the latter should be more preferable or holy.

kat perez, in Natter:

No major problems. Just the typical low-level nastiness that INS deals in every day. The appointment's at 8:30 but you need to get there early because people start lining up early and by 7:00 you'd think they were waiting to actually talk to God with such a long line. Then you finally get in for your 8:30 appointment and don't get called until 10:00. Of course, your interviewer is some snotty person who's not happy with the peanuts he's being paid and drunk on the little smidgen of power he has over people more fucked over than him. And this person doesn't even glance at the papers you've meticulously gathered because THEY DEMANDED THAT YOU BRING THEM. No, he just asks you some stupid ass questions he could have easily asked over the phone. Then you get ushered back out into the waiting area so you can waste more time while you watch the workers walk endlessly back and forth behind the bullet proof glass. And do they really need that when you practically have to strip down just to get into the building? Then they call you again at 11:30 to finally give you the stupid card and piece of paper that they could have given you three hours ago. But wait, there's more! You must stand in more lines and fill out more papers. But not here. Oh, no. Here we only do pointless thing number one. For pointless thing number two you must go to the West Hell Building on Way the Hell Too Far Corner where more tired, cranky, nasty people will wait on you. And they've had all morning to work on that shitty attitude until it's crystallized into that perfect sneer of utter contempt and tone of voice that says "Stupid ass foreigner, get out of my face. Give me your papers and shut the hell up." Then at the West Hell Building, they take your papers, make you wait some more and then give you a letter that they also could have sent you in the mail and tell you "See you in 12 to 14 weeks when more delightful fun will be had by all. And don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out." Time you left home- 5:30 am. Time you returned- 2:00 pm.

And she follows up:

Yeah, well. At least I got to skip work today.

Hello, Mr. Silver Lining. You're looking good. You alone? Mind if I sit down?

moonlit and (my possible long lost cousin) Plei in Natter

And don't forget that Canada withdrew from the coalition of the willing, are you going to stop talking to them too?

If the coalition of passive-aggressive relatives is to be believed, I already have....

oh - that was meant for the natter thread.

thessaly, in Buffy, in the midst of a discussion of what colors to wear

I am earth-tone woman. Hear me mulch.

I set it up, Calli takes it away:

Betsy: Courtesan fantasies.

Calli: Precisely. It falls apart for me when I consider that I'm not the sort that tends to make it as a courtesan. The whole "leave me alone while I read instead of paying attention to you" thing is apparently fatal, professionally speaking. I guess untold riches should buy a certain amount of attention, but I can't see it working for me. Not as long as Steven Brust keeps putting out books.

And more Calli:

My next fantasy involves an unknown great uncle. Let's call him "Ivan". Ivan went off to make his fortune in gay porn back in the early 1950s. The family disowned him, which I why I never heard of him. But he kept track, and he knows which of his relatives has the megs of slash fanfic on her harddrive, oh yes he does. He lead a long, fullfilling life. Upon his death, at age 98, surrounded by loving, handsome cabana boys, he left his entire fortune to me.

I'm waiting for that call from his executors.

ted r, Natter:

Actually I look at France and Germany as saying to the US: Friends don't let friends drive drunk. Unfortunately, they can't get the damn car keys out of our hand.

beth in Bitches:

I find anarchy works best when it is done my way.

John H explains Statistics 101:

Mean is the meanest of averages. It's the average you get when you add up all the averages and divide them by themselves. "Mode" is French and means "the most fashionable number". "Median" means "strip of grass in the middle of the road" so you just pick the most boring number.