Catherine is sitting next to me looking at pictures of kittens, barely able to speak from the sheer cuteness of it all. I mean that literally: I've seen her catch a glance at a particularly adorable puppy and just stammer for a moment before finally squeezing out a complete English word.

But with her it's not just conventional cute. Sure, the fat babies and kittens in ribbons will get a rise out of her, but it goes beyond that. And I think that examining the cuteness outliers provides a fascinating insight into the Catherinean mind.

So, some examples:

1. These kittens linked to from the Flickr blog. She thinks these things are cute as hell; I think they're missing a chromosome. I mean c'mon -- check out this shot. Something isn't right.
2. Rusty the narcoleptic Daschund. Okay, I'll admit this is cute. I'm just building my case.
3. Fainting Goats -- these pygmy goats' legs lock up when they get scared, making them fall over. It's pretty funny, but cute? I don't know.

So, what have we got here? Personally, I think a clear pattern emerges: if it's tiny and infirm, Catherine will think it's adorable (also, if it's a musically talented British man weighing less than 130lbs, but that's not strictly relevant to this discussion).

Tiny and infirm. I can only imagine the reaction that an infant on teeny tiny baby crutches would get out of her. Does anyone know if they make cards like that?

remember my design to replicate cakelove greatness? well, i started getting down to it on sunday. the cake part of the cupcake i've got - well, at least the consistency (which, because i am a shameless hussy, i think is better and moister than that of cakelove) - however, i do need to make it a bit more chocolate-y.

but icing was eluding me. i mishmashed a few recipes and threw together a mixture of butter, vanilla extract, confectioner's sugar, and milk. it turned out to be good, but way too sweet and a little too runny. not cakelove icing quality at all.

so tonight, i took on the icing. i downed a glass of wine, slammed a bowl and wooden spoon down on the counter, and it was ON. and by it being on, i mean i mixed a stick of butter with A TINY TINY DASH OF SUGAR AND EXTRACT. like, miniscule.

and you know what? it tasted a LOT like cakelove icing. i didn't know whether to be disgusted or, you know, devour the entire thing. anyway, beware: cakelove icing has 63 billion grams of fat and seems to be made of entirely buttery goodness.

Check out the concluding paragraph from this article on Coldplay:

It's strange for a man as morally outspoken and well-meaning as Martin to defer to such generically pop instincts—to retreat to the ambiguous power of crying "Aaahhh." But it's almost stranger for him to offer a collection of songs infected with the same low spirits as 2000. The State of Coldplay has never been stronger and Martin, with his celebrity wife and new child, has cobbled together a pretty good life. If it's not the sadness of worldly affairs that gnaw at the aching heart of Coldplay's songs—and the lyrics suggest not—it can't possibly be his own life, either. Maybe it's those bastard shareholders. Worse yet: Maybe it's nothing at all.

a weird surrealist moment: the first tour of a band i want to see where the show i'll be watching will be in chicago, not d.c.

where/what the fuck is the metro, anyway?

can you get pizza in a FUCKING CONE.

[hat tip to whatevs.org]

This article over at Slate... it's not so good:

Sometime in the next decade or so, neuroscientists will likely identify the specific neural networks and activity that generate the vague but vital thing we call consciousness. Delineating the infrastructure of awareness is biology's most difficult problem, but a leading researcher like Christof Koch, Gerald Edelman, or Stanislas Dehaene could soon solve it. Science will then possess what might be called a "consciometer" — a set of tests (probably an advanced version of a brain scan or EEG) that can measure consciousness the way kidney or lung function is now measured.

The author, a guy named David Dobbs, goes on to rhapsodize about the revolutionary impact the consciometer will have on the abortion debate and living will decisions.

I've written the word "consciometer" before. It's a nice rhetorical device when talking about these kinds of things. But this is a pretty stupid article.

i rarely talk about my ob-jay on this og-blay, mostly because a) i think it's bad form and b) i do genuinely like the people there, though the ob-jay itself can be a bit mind-numbing. but, surely i can freely talk about other people's jobs, right? and thus i present this information from my, um, friend...err...let's call her fatherine. fathy, if you will.

fathy has this problem. and this problem is that she hates social interaction with people who are not as irreparably cynical and bitter as she. lately, in the past couple of years at her job, this has become a problem as she has been required to attend several baby and wedding showers at the office. not only has she been required to put forth a forced cheery and optimistic and cooing presence at these events, she has often been roped into a) preparing or buying food and b) buying presents for the occasions. well, not so much roped into as passively-aggressively pushed into it, by receiving several dozen kindly-worded emails requesting help or containing links to half a dozen different registries.

now, see, fathy often thinks that the rage that sometimes boils deep down inside of her should not be revealed for public consumption, as it is not exactly normal, so she goes along with these things, even going so far as to acquiesce to a different coworker's desire to buy a basket, several yards of pale blue ribbon, and sparkly glitter in which to wrap one gift. it is tough not to reveal rage to her colleagues, but fathy has by now long been a master of being nice in public and bitching only on her blog. but she wants to know one thing:

isn't this kind of shit illegal?

baking cookies for somebody whose major interaction with you has been asking you to create a PDF document? buying a present for the unborn spawn child of somebody who HAS to earn AT LEAST twice what you are making? PLAYING BRIDAL SHOWER MAD LIBS?!?!?!?!

now, fathy wants to make it clear that she loves her coworkers and is only bitter about the social constructs that dictate these sort of showers. but as long as she is buying an artfully arranged pile of diapers for somebody who owns a beach house, she will bitch, and one day hope that society will be as such that SHE will get her own personal showers thrown for her milestone accomplishments like powering through a friday hungover, spending rent money on a really sweet pair of shoes, or eating an entire bucket of KFC chicken. come on now, people. what are our REAL priorities in life that should be celebrated?

last week, i was wondering, as i am wont to do, if there was an uglier summer trend out there than tunics. tunics are heinous, and i can't understand why they're so popular. it's like, somebody just HAD to bring back that crusader-era style shirt, and oh yeah, let's make everybody look fat and shapeless and like a big old woman tent.

but while in chicago, i saw a popular trend that eclipsed anything unflattering i've seen here in d.c.: the long swishy stretchy shorts that accentuate your butt in a very bad way. that should be its official name, cause that's what it does. does anybody know what i'm talking about? i can't find a picture on the internet, but i saw several not unattractive women wearing them in chicago. and it was terrible. no matter how skinny you are, putting these pants on makes you look like an elephant wearing saran wrap. i was walking behind one average-sized woman wearing these monstrosities, and it was like everything...went...into...slow...motion. the jiggles. the horror. shudder. i'm not sure i'll ever be able to forgive chicago, which otherwise seems like a fashion-forward city, for allowing their residents to put these things on.

worst of all: i saw a woman wearing the shorts this morning on my way to work. it has started. DC, if anything, we are uglier and fatter than chicago. our fashion reputation is bad enough. let's just leave the swishy shorts to the midwest. please?

exhibit one:

"[T]his is the longest day of the year. Its called the 'summer solstice' and happens around 21 June. Astronomers call this the start of summer"

Today is June 14. I haven't double-checked my math, but I think that makes it still officially spring.

exhibit two:

"The high temperatures Tuesday are forcing some schools to close early, including D.C. Public Schools, which will let students out at 12:30 p.m."

Hmm.

On the upside, the mayor's heat plan includes the extension of public swimming pool hours and "street showers" (which are presumably more pleasant than they sound). I hear Fenty's promising free ice cream.

Thanks to Jeff sending it to me, I can now encourage you to go check out our buddy Scott's AnySoldier page. Don't be frightened by the gruff guy chomping on a cigar and flashing a US flag that greets you when you follow the link. Sure, you could accurately call Scott "Sarge". And yes, he could kill you with his bare hands. But he's a nice guy, and a medic besides, so he'd probably be willing to resuscitate you if you asked nicely.

Although he's technically stationed in Italy, at the moment Scott's deployed to Afghanistan -- and writing about the experience whenever he can. It's fascinating reading, if occasionally unsettling.

And hey, if you've got a yen to mend your liberal America-hating ways and send some stuff overseas, Scott's got a list of stuff that the locals and the guys in his unit would appreciate receiving. I'm going to try to get a package together in the next couple of weeks if anyone wants to piggy-back with that. The slurpee machine thing is a particularly tempting engineering challenge...