Bullets

• I don't want to write yet another post on how the left is eating itself, but earlier in the week, this happened. (I like the original Tumblr post better, though.) The reaction has been so predictable, it's laughable. Here and here are two longer discussions that don't completely devolve into partisan politics.
• My aging iPod is finally giving up the ghost. I found an old shuffle that hadn't been charged up in, oh, five years maybe, just so I'd have something to work out to and it's been like Christmas. Some weird sort of Christmas where you're gifted your musical taste from half a decade ago, in all its embarrassing glory. Was there as brief fascination with falsetto in the late-aughts? Why did every male singer sound like Barry Gibb?
• On a related note, I've rediscovered my love for Stink.
• I'm reading Meghan Daum's most recent collection of essays, The Unspeakable. I like her writing, but I don't know a lot of other women who do. She's not exactly a provocateur, but she has a casual irreverence that borders on insensitive.  Daum got into a little bit of hot water recently with an LA Times article on the hyper-focus of campus rape to the exclusion of sexual violence experienced by other women not benefiting from preponderance of evidence standards. Maybe it was a little clumsily written, but I think she has a point. The "crisis" of campus rape always read to me as a little more than tinged with classism. Women of the same age who aren't in college are just as likely to be raped than those in college. The real crisis is with the way campus's handle accusations of sexual assault, which does a great disservice to the accuser and the accused.