"iVegetarian: The High Fructose Diet of Steve Jobs."

"Flirting with fruitarianism and other eating disorders of Steve Jobs."

None of us, of course, knows what caused the pancreatic cancer that led to Steve Jobs's  death, or what, if anything could have saved him....

For awhile at college, Jobs lived on Roman Meal cereal. He would buy a box, which would last a week, then flats of dates, almonds and a lot of carrots.   He made carrot juice with a Champion juicer, and at one point turned "a sunset-like orange hue."...

Too much fear of death, too much of a fantasy of getting control... hubris.

"Somehow I get the feeling that when young Ann Althouse refused to eat the carrots on her dinner plate, her parents just sighed and got out the Cap'n Crunch."

Roy Edroso cuts and pastes some of my very best material onto his blog, but leaves me out of his Village Voice column "Dog Soldiers: Rightbloggers Meld with Mitt over Obama Mutt Meal Story." He just doesn't know how to "meld" my material with his "rightbloggers" shtick. It's too meta (and meat-a) for him to grind up into the usual sausages the folk at VV use to metaphorically masturbate.

But I must correct Mr. Edroso. There are 5 errors in the statement "when young Ann Althouse refused to eat the carrots on her dinner plate, her parents just sighed and got out the Cap'n Crunch."


1. "Cap'n Crunch is a product line of sweetened corn and oat breakfast cereals introduced in 1963," and I was already 12 in 1963.  My sweetened corn cereal of choice was Corn Pops, born in 1951, like me. Here I am explaining my cereal preference to 2 guys including a guy who looks like my dad and has a name like some guy in my adopted home town, Guy Madison.

2. Since carrots were never cooked in my 1950s childhood home, but were served raw, I liked them. Now, if it were something like spinach, which my mother always served with slices of hard-boiled egg on top, I would have avoided it, perhaps, along with the other kids in the family, with some simple commentary like "ew, spinach."

3. My parents never sighed about anything like this. At most, they would inform us that we were saying something that wasn't good "dinner conversation" and they would continuing modeling what was to their ear good dinner conversation.

4. My parents wouldn't get up from the dining table and go back into the kitchen to get different food if we didn't want to eat what we were served. They might say something like "That's dinner" and then move on, in the usual fashion, to good dinner conversation.

5. I was left to my own devices at the dinner table, devices I pursued silently and without parental comment or intervention of any kind: I drank milk, I ate plenty of potatoes, and I sprinkled sugar — copiously — on the wedge of iceberg lettuce. Later, after I was excused from the table — we said "May I be excused?" — I ate all the ice cream I wanted.

IN THE COMMENTS: At Roy's, Halloween Jack says:

Althouse probably thinks of her blogging self as a shorter, snappier Maureen Dowd, but she doesn't have the detached hollowness at the heart of MoDo's mean-girl act; she's usually petty, often smug, and when she gets like this, downright creepy. 

If it were a dinner party and she started in on this, people would probably laugh at first, mostly out of politeness, but a strained silence would ensue as she went on and was obviously getting into it. Then she realizes that not only is everyone else silent but almost everyone is averting their gaze; she clears her throat, murmurs "Well, anyway," and drains her wine glass. The guests can hand-wave it away as an odd tic (although one or two might reach for their list of handy excuses on the occasion of subsequent invitations), but on the blog it sits there, generating a veritable miasma like the stench of garbage left in a warm apartment for a week. 

Fortunately from her perspective, unfortunately from anyone else's, she's got her regulars to reinforce her behavior, with Meade piping in with a HuffPo piece about the amount of lead in the White House lawn, and she'll have a virtual dinner party at which she's always the toast of the town.

Enjoy the party!

Colleges are asking incoming students to declare their sexual orientation.

"Sexual orientation is a part of diversity and cannot be ignored, said Robert Anderson, chair of the Academic Senate of the University of California system.

It's for their own good. The university has services it wants to provide. All the government's intrusions into your private life are for your own good. You will be given what is good for you, so come on now, tell us all about everything.

ADDED: When I started college, at the University of Michigan in 1969, the freshman were all given a test — various multiple choice questions — and it produced a number of different scores, one of which was not revealed to the students (although we figured out the code and were able to read our scores). This score purported to place everyone on a spectrum from very masculine to very feminine, and perhaps the authorities imagined that they could identify the homosexuals.

What were the questions? — you may wonder. Famously, one question was do you prefer cooked or raw carrots. In my family, we only ate raw carrots, so I'd always regarded cooked carrots as gross. I suppose that made the University regard me as more of a lesbian. I seem to remember a question that asked what would you rather do, where one option was to take apart a clock and then put it back together again. I don't know what the other choice was, but I suspect that clock project skewed a lot of the boys gay.

"Fatwa banning Muslim women from touching bananas and other penis-shaped foods makes Internet rounds."

"Unconfirmed religious order says the phallic foods may spark sexy thoughts."

Hmmm. Emphasis on "unconfirmed." I don't believe it, and I've passed up on writing about this story because I think propagating rumors about a religion is a very bad practice.

"If women wish to eat these food items, a third party, preferably a male related to them such as their a father or husband, should cut the items into small pieces and serve," the cleric supposedly dictated.

Carrots and zucchinis pose a similar threat, according to the Muslim decree.

I'm writing about this now, not because I want to amuse you — though, admittedly, it's amusing — but because I'm acknowledging that this is now a meme. Memes about religion penetrate deeply. Use protection.

But... why am I resisting this? Phallic symbols are a long — really long — -term topic on this blog. And if the Muslim cleric thinks women ought to refrain from touching carrots, I'd like to caution the men about fingering onion rings. Remember? Old times on the Althouse blog: "Let's take a closer look at Bill's carrot and Hillary's onion ring."

And, by the way, I say that cleric — if he really exists — is bragging: Even a vague reminder of the shape — and size! — of our turgid man-parts sends our women swooning with desire.

ADDED: Literary reference:

He turns, advances to edge of stage, halts, strokes banana, peels it, drops skin at his feet, puts end of banana in his mouth and remains motionless, staring vacuously before him. Finally he bites off the end, turns aside and begins pacing to and fro at edge of stage, in the light, i.e. not more than four or five paces either way, meditatively eating banana. He treads on skin, slips, nearly falls, recovers himself, stoops and peers at skin and finally pushes it, still stooping, with his foot over the edge of the stage into pit. He resumes his pacing, finishes banana, returns to table, sits down, remains a moment motionless, heaves a great sigh, takes keys from his pockets, raises them to his eyes, chooses key, gets up and moves to front of table, unlocks second drawer, takes out a second large banana, peers at it, locks drawer, puts back his keys in his pocket, turns, advances to the edge of stage, halts, strokes banana, peels it, tosses skin into pit, puts an end of banana in his mouth and remains motionless, staring vacuously before him. Finally he has an idea, puts banana in his waistcoat pocket, the end emerging, and goes with all the speed he can muster backstage into darkness. Ten seconds. Loud pop of cork. Fifteen seconds. He comes back into light carrying an old ledger and sits down at table. He lays ledger on table, wipes his mouth, wipes his hands on the front of his waistcoat, brings them smartly together and rubs them....

Good to be back in my den in my old rags. Have just eaten I regret to say three bananas and only with difficulty restrained a fourth. Fatal things for a man with my condition.

What the "Occupy Madison" encampment looked like today...

(Enlarge.)

It's exiled on East Washington Avenue. Meanwhile, at the Capitol Square... the protesting is enigmatic and infiltrated with Halloween — Freakfest — spirit....


(Enlarge.)

Would you eat that carrot?

The anti-war march — today in Madison, Wisconsin.

"Hope is in the street not the White House."



"Who lied? Who died? Who pays? Who profits?"



"Birds not bombs."



"Corporations get handouts/We get shut out."



"Occupy the World."



"U.S. empire abroad requires austerity at home! Bring all troops & dollars home now."/"Still waiting to get trickled down on."



"Soon the poor will have nothing left to eat but the rich."



Following a man in a badger hat and rainbow fingerless gloves, a woman eats from a bag of popcorn:



"The world is a dangerous place to live... not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it."



"End the wars," a sign clothes-pinned onto a marijuana flag, held by a man wearing a "No more drug war" T-shirt.



"It's time for peace" (and also time for the Farmers' Market, which is going on at the Capitol Square at the same time the peace march arrives).

"Are carrots orange for political reasons?"

Possibly!

Sinkscapes.

At the Countertop Café...

... there's plenty to eat.

Caught in a rainstorm, ducking into a small-town libraray, I read the Utne Reader yesterday.

I used to subscribe back in the 80s, when I loved it. But what is it now? I found the cover pretty amusing:



I can't find a bigger picture of that at the site. Too bad! They should show it off. It's funny — Obama biting into a sloppy cheeseburger and cringing as the angry Michelle waves a bunch of carrots much like wives in old comic strips used to wield rolling pins. And you know what it means when a First Lady gets after the President to eat carrots.

Of course, the article inside isn't critical of Michelle Obama and her eat-your-vegetables shtick. It's critical of Obama, but not because he eats cheeseburgers, because he "loves up industrial agriculture." We're supposed to identify with the angry woman swinging her lo-cal phallic symbols at her man. (At least they aren't cut up phallic symbols like the ones Hillary famously foisted on Bill.) The cheeseburger Obama prefers — like the onion rings Bill Clinton preferred — is a symbol, a symbol of what he loves. In Obama's case, according to the article, it's agribusiness. He "loves up" agribusiness, that big sloppy, gooey cheeseburger.

It's Utne Reader, that magazine for aging lefties, and the article assumes you're into the anti-business agenda. The magazine assumes you'll identify with Michelle and her vegetables and is oblivious to the possible revulsion you might feel to the angry face they've given her. You're supposed to think:  Yes, Obama, come back to your lefty roots. (Note: Carrots are roots.) Your policies need to kick big business in the ass and embrace the local and sustainable and holistic.

But I didn't get that far into the magazine. The library was closing and the rainstorm was ending, and we needed to get back to the Glacial Drumlin Trail. I only had time to read: 1.  a letter from the editor by a subscriber who was sending back an issue of the magazine because it had Sarah Palin on the cover and she didn't want to look at that ever ever ever (though presumably the articles inside assailed the Alaskan), 2. "On Being Fat and Running: Abandoning insecurity for a full life," by Brenton Dickieson, from Geez, and "Sentenced to Life: A man ages in prison and outlives society’s fears," by Kenneth E. Hartman, from Notre Dame. But none of those things are accessible on line, so I can't send Utne Reader some traffic and set up some discussion about that here.

The Hartman article is a reprint, and — unlike the Geez reprint about running while fat — the original is on line, so you can read it.

Prison is a young man’s world, a world of physical violence and posturing, a world of brute strength and primal, unfocused rage. It is not a place to grow old, although more and more of us are doing just that: growing old in prison.

But Utne Reader is not a young man's world — or a young woman's world. It feels like an old person's place. I felt too young for it... and I'm old. Or it's for those other aging Americans... the lefties.  I see these people in Madison all the time. Do they feel left behind? Do you think the day will come when "lefty" will seem to mean left behind?

IN THE COMMENTS: lemondog has a way to get to an enlargement of the cover. Here's a closeup screen grab that shows Michelle's face:



The artist is Jason Seiler. Nice work. I notice the cigarette over the ear now. Ha.

Using lemondog's method, I can get to that letter about Sarah Palin. If you page forward in the magazine, you'll find it. You can see the cover that upset the poor woman so. She complains:

When the media gives air space, page space, and cover space (albeit in jest or irony) to crazies such as Palin, they are complicit in her plan to lend credence to the climate of ignorance, sensationalism, and just downright muddled thinking that is passed off as a national discourse these days — and which she is one of the most visible muddlers.

Jeez, the mere image of Sarah Palin unleashes hysteria.

AND: The image of Michelle Obama drives other people nuts. Women's faces. They're so provocative.

Tomatoes and carrots.

At the Farmers Market today.

There is pink.

But there is also orange.

Shed a tear for the orange and its desperate problems.

"Barack Obama even needs a teleprompter to get mad."

Notes Maureen Dowd, who also inserts the saying "Never bolt the door with a boiled carrot." This is not subtle imagery. The woman is insulting his manhood.

"Starfish and Coffee soup? Cream of AwwoooooooahHundalasiliah soup?"

"Turns out it was just carrot..."

Just carrot?!

“Parallel Worlds, Parallel Lives."

I'm just watching this video after watching "Parallel Worlds, Parallel Lives" on "Nova":



As one of the commenters over at YouTube says "Can we all agree that that is the BEST performance ever from a carrot in a music video?"

Here's a review of the documentary:

MARK OLIVER EVERETT does not deal in reassuring platitudes, whether writing bruised and barbed confessionals as the frontman for his cult rock band, Eels, or discussing the suburban Virginia upbringing that sometimes informs them. “My father was always there,” Mr. Everett said, “in the way that the furniture was always there.”

His father, Hugh Everett III, was a quantum physicist who, as a graduate student at Princeton in the ’50s, pioneered the many-worlds theory, an interpretation of quantum mechanics that proposed the existence of parallel universes. But to the younger Mr. Everett, the rock singer known to fans and friends simply as E, his father was a shirt-and-tie-clad fixture at the dining room table, an inscrutable figure who preferred chain-smoking Kents to conversation, and scrawling calculations on yellow legal pads to parenting.

“I didn’t really know he was a famous quantum physicist,” Mr. Everett, 45, said.... “It wasn’t something anyone talked about around the house. He barely spoke at all.”

I guess it's not so cool to have a genius dad. The younger Everett, we learn, couldn't understand math at all and flunked basic algebra.

IN THE COMMENTS: ElcubanitoKC said...

I really wanted to kill this whiney idiot. He can't speak in plain English ("behold my metaphor!" again), and he obviously didn't care about his father. He has no idea about science, in fact he very obviously rejected it all "because daddy didn't hug me!"...ugh. I wanted to refresh my quantum mechanics and the history of it, but this bearded fool was in the middle of it, and irritated me to no end. I had to turn the TV off.

Yes, I started watching thinking I could gain some appreciation for a theory that has always only seemed perfectly insane to me, but it turned out to be much more of a personal interest story about a mopey alternative rocker. The science part of it was therefore slow-moving. At one point, I thought the story was aimed at children. Then, I adapted and started thinking of it as a more creative documentary along the lines of "Crumb" and "Fast, Cheap and Out of Control" -- two of my favorite movies -- and I thought it was kind of cool. Are you supposed to like Mark Oliver Everett -- was his father a secret 3 Stooges fan? -- or was he more of a Charles Crumb sort of character who inspires pity, mild loathing, and fearsome recognition?

"For those of you who carry just a wallet, how the heck do you do it?"

Dr. Helen got sick of carrying a purse, but finds it hard to edit down to just a wallet. She asks for advice. I was a staunch purse-avoider for many years. I was over 40 before I started carrying a purse and even then, I did it only some of the time. So I'm almost an expert.

First, get a very slim wallet. Dr. Helen links to the one she bought, and I can see from the picture that it is way too bulky. It's made of thick, pebbly leather and folds over twice. Ugh! This beautifully designed wallet by Comme Des Garcons is the best slim wallet I've ever encountered. Yes, I wish it were cheaper, but it's a beautiful design. When you're wearing pants with decent pockets, you can carry that in one pocket and your keys in the other.

But if you need anything more — cell phone, lipstick — it's might get too bulky. A jacket can add some pockets, but the best solution is really a very small purse with a thin shoulder strap. And that's probably more comfortable and free than stuffing things in your pockets. The right kind of tiny purse with your essential things can be put inside a larger handbag, so that it's easy to switch from heavy to light. For example, I love this big bag, and I can put my laptop, papers, multiple pairs of glasses, cameras, books and everything in it, along with the much smaller bag that is easily taken out and used separately.

Finally, don't think so much about how annoying the big bag is. Look at the problem in a positive way. It's interesting to try to figure out ways to do all sorts of things more efficiently. The handbag issue is just one example of the many things in life that could be simplified and improved. It's good to develop your awareness of this and to enjoy thinking creatively about how to become more efficient. For example, think of how encumbered you are by the project of consuming several meals a day — all that shopping, cooking, chewing, cleaning up. The equivalent of the skinny wallet here is the Posh Spice approach to food — no meals, just a restricted set of snack items. Posh has chosen soy beans, pretzels, diet Coke. I think you could put together a much better selection, like maybe smoked almonds, carrots, and latte.

Travel light!

ADDED: Dr. Helen blames women for the lack of pockets in women's clothes. She states that women are "slaves to fashion." Eh. Some are. Some aren't. Here's her evidence:

Try going to the opening of a local Sephora (a make-up store, for those of you who aren’t “in the know”) and watch the parade of women swoon and swarm through the store as if they are on a drug-induced high. Then take a look at the puzzled faces of the men or boys they’ve dragged to the place while they watch the mysterious behavior of these women who are practically foaming at the mouth about make-up and tell me that this fashion — along with a lust for purses — is anything but the desire of the women themselves doing the longing.

But I've been lusting and longing for beautiful women's clothes with well-designed pockets for decades. That doesn't cause it to be in the stores. I think free markets work pretty well, but I still don't believe what is in the stores equates to what we really want.

But I must say, I was in Sephora the other day (to spend $22 for lip balm — "sweet and tart blackcurrant oil cushions the lips with plumping fatty acids"), and the women were in some crazy dream world. One woman raves to another that this cosmetics line is all natural, and the other oohs with excitement and surprise. But some women had in fact dragged men along with them, and way these men looked made me want to slap them back to consciousness and shout at them to get the hell out of there. I'm not saying that men must be very masculine or that there's something wrong with a man who actually wants to go into Sephora and buy something. (They have plenty of men's products, and beautiful salesladies will eagerly help you select great gifts for women.) But these particular men looked as though they had atrophied into mere appendages of women. They were willingly and weakly standing there discussing the women's products. They were placidly accepting their diminished existence. That's how I saw it anyway.

I think I'm going to have to stop watching "American Idol."

Monday marked the first day of my 5th year of blogging, and during each of those past 4 years, I blogged every episode — did I miss even 1? — of "American Idol." Last night, a new season began, and I started watching and got about halfway through before I abandoned it (with the recorder going) to check out the Democratic debate and the Michigan primary returns. Will I go back and watch the rest of the show?

It feels too much like an obligation, but what's worse is that I don't feel that it works well for me as raw material for blogging anymore. Must I once again live through the early auditions, where one mouth after another opens and something either reasonably good or horribly bad comes out?

What difference does it make? It will either be good or bad. If it's bad, you're to laugh.

(And I did laugh pretty hard at one poor man last night. He told us he was like Paul Robeson, sang with his mouth oddly constrained and his lingual frenulum on obscene display, and then blamed his failure to impress the judges on his choice of religious material. )

If it's good, you're supposed to bond. You're supposed to care as these characters begin their journey into the months long sifting process. They prod you to bond by presenting mini-melodramas that emphasize the contestants' close bonds to their mothers, their sick children, and their horses and kitties.

You're supposed to upload the significant singers one by one into your consciousness so that you can appreciate the experience of seeing them systematically and slowly eliminated, until there is one left standing, at which point, you — or at least I — will realize I am not at all interested in this person. Get off my TV screen.

And then they do. They go away. They hibernate — they estivate and they hibernate — until the following January, when you will have forgotten what a pain it was to follow the show week after unrewarding week, and you'll be able to feel excited by the return of the boinging theme music, and the old panel of judges, who will file in wearily and act pained that they have to sit through it all again.

But they are being paid. I'm not. Seriously, my readers paid me $200 to eat an egg salad sandwich that one time, but no one pays me to blog "American Idol." Would I take a job watching and writing about "American Idol" for $200 an episode? Of course not! But even as we do some things for money that we wouldn't do for free, we do some things for free that we wouldn't do for money. Nevertheless, somehow, this year, blogging every episode of "American Idol" doesn't seem to be one of them.

IN THE COMMENTS: Lots of great discussion of later episodes.

ADDED: Actually, there's a glitch that cuts off the comments in that old post making it impossible to see all of what I pointed you too. So here are the comments from this week's girls show (and some more), all by ace commenter Trooper York:

Now the ladies.

Carly is up and guess what her secret is? SHE"S IRISH AND SHE WORKS IN A BAR!!!! WOW.

She sings Crazy on you by Heart and does an ok rendition. The judges are trying to rehablitate her since the controversy seems to have blown over about her prior record contract. But she has a long way to go to really have a chance to win.

Syesha's up and does a smokey, sexy version of Me and Mrs Jones, but turns it into Me and Mr. Jones which freaks out Simon since he can't deal with gender confusion, (see his relationship with Seacrest). The judges dog her and she seems sad, but I think she is safe unless everyone forgets her. But she has the Latin base and the Miami people so she might be ok this week since other people will suck much worse.

Brooke is up next and takes her guitar and sings a letter perfect copy of Carly Simon's Youre so Vain to Simon. He loves it because it plays to his image and praises her for it. It's funny how they ask for orginality and then love a letter perfect copy. This is pure karioke if I ever heard it. I do admit she does have the horse face and lips of Carly Simon. Lets give her a carrot and move on to the next contestant.

Which is our favorite, little Ramile who belts out some Donna Summer. The judges don't buy it because they want her back in her box. It's funny because she is the only contestant who could actually fit in a box. Maybe a hat box. Or even a McDonals happy meal box. Or a happy ending box. Simon does call her one of the three best singers in the competition. So she should be good for this week.

Next up is pony girl Kristy Lee Cooke who sings "Youre No Good." Very appropriate because she is no good and I hope she is one of the two who are out this week. Simon says she has a lot of potential, but I think that is on her looks alone, cause she can't sing for shit. I would pay good money to see her saddle up horse face Brooke and ride her around the Surreal Life house, but that won't happen for a year or two.

Amanda Oversinger, I mean Amanda. Overbearing, I mean Amanda Overmeyer the motorcycle chick is next and she sucks big time. The judges really trash her big time and deservedly so. But the looks she is giving them are classic. I bet she's thinking, let me get a tire iron and come back here and see what's what. I guess she is going back to singing in bars and raping waitresses on pinball machines with pool cues. Sweet.

Alexandrea comes out in the professor's favorite outfit: a bubble shirt and cargo shorts. This outfit would be good for about six posts if some dude wore it on the Promonade. She sang "Hopelessly Devouted to You" in a hopelessly depressing monotone. The judges trash her gently and give just enough encouragement so she might skate this week. But I think she has a chance to go this week. [NOTE: He's right.]

Wait a minute I screwed up. It was Alaina Witaker who sang Hopelessly Devoted and ALexandrea who had the bad outfit. Both sucked and have a chance to be out. See what happens when you wait a day and rely on your notes. You forget. I feel like Roger Clemens. Please don't tell Congress.

Next up is Kady Malloy who does the Britney impression. I said it before and I will say it again, if she wants to be noticed she needs to show her cootch just like Britney cause otherwise she is out this week or next. Jeeez.

Last but not least, Asia'h rocks. All By Myself and the judges diss her lightly but I think it was the best of the night. Since she got the pimp spot she should be ok and get throught to the next round. Good tone, good belting, good dance moves, good look. She will be in the final ten.

So to recap, I think Amanda and Kady will be out this week. Also Jason the child molester guy with the Damien kid and Robbie the Axel Rose douche bag guy. Lets see. [NOTE: He was right about the guys, but wrong about the girls.]

Remember don't look at the spelling because I am typing as fast as I can and I can't spell for shit. Sorry....

I think that the Humility Kid [David Archuleta] will wear out his welcome before the final. He is peaking way too early. I think it will be a surprise winner this year. The Hernandez kid has good instincts and might go far, but my bet is split between Syesha or Ramile. Hey it might be the year for people with strange names to win it all. Right Hillary?

Not [Archuleta's] singing, but his popularity. He is the fave of the little tweener girls, notice the squeals and the screams at his performance. He might keep that demographic but everyone else gets pissed off. Witness the Talyor Hicks fiasco. Plus kids have a short attention span and most of the tweeners favs fade just as it happened in the first season with that bozo haired guy.

The question is who gets the Ralph Nader protest votes marshaled by Vote for the Worst. My bet is Cha-cheese-ie or Noriega. That is important because it kept Sanjaya and Scott Savol the secret squirrel around for quite a while.

A good personality can go a long way. People get tired of wise guys, but that is what puts the Vote for the Worst guys in your corner. Although that might have died out too since it was fun last year with Sanjaya but will Stern and the rest of them get on the bandwagon. It's not a good idea to talk back to the judges and overly bitchy like Noriega goes quick. But who ever thought that old pineapple face's kid would be on American Idol. General Noriega must be proud wherever he is these days. (Dead?)

Blogging the presidential campaign — month by month, 2007.

January: Analyzing the text of Hillary Clinton's announcement.

February: "Wearing an overcoat but gloveless on a frigid morning, Mr. Obama invoked a speech Lincoln gave here..."

March: "And people are going to have to take better care of themselves. We cannot afford all the illness that folks are bringing on themselves."

April: Is Obama a gasbag?

May: Chris Wallace asks Giuliani about his statement that it's "okay" if Roe is overruled and "okay" if it's not — but doesn't push him on his answer.

June: Let's take a closer look at Bill's carrot and Hillary's onion ring.

July: Giuliani and race.

August: You people are soooo invisible. And you will always be invisible. Without me.

September: The world, tired of hating America, wants Hillary to win.

October: Like George Bush, Hillary Clinton "presides over an office of intense and focused workaholics, protective of their patron and wary of outsiders."

November: "Hnh, Biden stomps some dirt on Robert Bork's grave."

December: "It said my house is pink. I would not have a pink house, I assure you."

Remembering the carrots.

After calling that last episode with me "The Forgotten Carrots Edition," Bloggingheads now has the explanation at the top of the right sidebar:

A few months ago, Ann Althouse's spiel about carrots in a Hillary campaign ad rocked the blogosphere. Steve Kaus felt the shockwaves; he remarked on the issue in a diavlog with Bob Wright. But now Steve has forgotten about the carrots entirely.Or has he? Is that a glint of recognition in his eye?

He claims — here in my comments section — that he only remembered later. But since I'm big on seeing things in video and standing by my observations, I really shouldn't point that out.

ADDED: To continue the interpretation of video, watch Bob Wright — on the left in video 2 — after he says "And I'm not sure I've ever thought of carrots that way." Has he? Is that a glint of recognition in his eye?

UPDATE: I've removed the embedded video, which seemed to be causing a lot of problems with the page loading. I've put in links, so you can still see the video if you want.

Bloggingheads! The Forgotten Carrots Edition!

It's me and Stephen Kaus.

Topics:

Covering the Bhutto assassination: NBC drops the ball (08:47)
Would a second Clinton presidency offend Jefferson’s ghost? (07:09)
Hillary’s secrecy about her First Lady days (08:36)
Prosecuting steroid use in baseball (10:42)
Ron Paul’s many weird ideas (11:16)
Ann schools Steve in the art of blogging (09:20)