Oh C-Anne-ada!

Full disclosure: I was a total book dork as a child (and dork-dork, but that's another story...). I was known for my ability to read for hours at a time,  completely unaware of people coming, going, asking me questions, holding a gun to my head, etc. If I could bottle that level of focused joy and sell it, I'd put Adderall out of business. 

But this is not some Wordsworthian lament for lost youthful exuberance. I'm just here to marvel that, despite my years of avid, geeky reading, I somehow missed out on the JOY that is Anne of Green Gables. According to my mother, I was a particularly stubborn child - although I remember being nothing but a delight - and at some point in my wayward youth I got it into my head that I did not want to read the books or watch the miniseries and successfully avoided them for well over the next decade. 

This Just In...

As responsible webmistresses, we like to see how folks are meandering the interwebs and ending up on our humble blog. Well, interestingly, it turns out we're NOT the only ones who want to see "Richard Engel Shirtless" because people are Googling said phrase right and left and being directed to us. Unfortunately, we have no shirtless pics of Engel to share (sorry to disappoint), but we can offer you this excerpt from his book A Fist In the Hornet's Nest:

"I wanted to be ready at a moment's notice, which also made sleeping something of an issue. I don't generally sleep with any clothing on, which could potentially have led to somewhat awkward circumstances if the hotel caught fire, was stormed by fedayeen or if bepistoled intelligence agents burst into my room in the dead of night. I envisioned myself standing outside the Palestine Hotel naked as a fish, a bed sheet wrapped around me like a swami, redfaced in front of the other reporters. It wouldn't have looked very professional." 

People Of The Internet, you're welcome. 

Richard, we TOTALLY get that you're an über-responsible correspondent who would never post such a salacious picture of yourself. But keep in mind, it's not really that taboo anymore. After all, remember this picture...

Yeah. New World, New Rules. FTW.

We Wish You Were Right, But Goshdarnit! You're Wrong: Baroness Elsa Schraeder Edition

Welcome readers, to the inaugural post in what may or may not become a regular series on this fair blog: We Wish You Were Right, But Goshdarnit! You're Wrong. Our featured player this week is, appropriately, the Baroness Schraeder, a.k.a. Elsa, a.k.a. the apathetic, draped-in-pointless-luxury Austrian lady of leisure who was presumptuous enough to think she could get in between Maria and Captain von Trapp. Ha! As if, lady...

Even a stopped clock is, as we know, right twice a day, and the Baroness was on the money with: "Somewhere out there is a young lady who I think will never be a nun." Good call, Elsa. And hey, we'll even grant that maybe, just maybe, that strudel was entirely too delicious for your figure.

But we're here today to talk about some dangerous advice you've been doling out to impressionable young girls who might develop a bad "habit" (zomg punz, stop it...) because of you. 

Know what we're talking about, Elsa?...

Wasilla Is For Wankers

OK, boys and girls...

We, the gals of TID, have a confession to make: we've been languishing in our StephEnie Meyer-esque conflict-less comfort zone for a while now, bundling up cozily and basking in the warmth of heroes we love. Brave individuals who tear it down without a second of hesitation.  

But adulating idol worship, though awesome and necessary in certain situations, is not the main purpose of this blog. And we've failed you, dear readers. 

We exist to call out the cretins. The dunces. The wishy-washy. The fuckwits. The folks who, when staring straight at a Nazi flag flying from the rafters of their home/apartment/ranch/castle/chateau/estancia/hovel allow the monstrosity to fly. They do not tear down the flag and destroy it then and there...