Daily Archives: June 22, 2011

Are The Miss USA Contestants more Pro Evolution than the United States Senate?

There’s been a fair amount of talk about the Miss USA interview question “should evolution be taught in schools,” and a fair amount of attention given to the answers provided by the contestants. For the most part, people have gotten mad at these women because they are both beautiful in a classic patriarchal-normative-way and are handmaidens or hobgoblins or whatever of the sexist system in which we live, and because they are all wrong about evolution and whether or not it should be taught in schools.

But, it is not so simple.

Continue reading Are The Miss USA Contestants more Pro Evolution than the United States Senate?

I don’t want to say I told you so, but ….

Huxley learned a while back how to open doors by, of all things, turning the doorknobs. Amanda thought we should get the devices that go over the doorknobs to thwart his efforts. I thought we should just attach fasteners to the doors and seal them up until he’s eighteen.

But, I respected Amanda’s opinion, even though it was based on no data and conflicted with my opinion that was based on vast experience and such, and encouraged her to try the doorknob covers. So she got them and installed them and they worked. That was two days ago.

So earlier this evening, distant thunder combined with earlier concerns expressed by the weather service caused me to flip on the radar to see if a tornado might be in the offing, and indeed, there was a tornado watch just put into effect and a big and growing suspicious looking blob heading our way. So I was standing there in the living room a bit distracted, and I felt a tapping on my leg. I looked down and Huxley was slapping me on the knee to get my attention, so that he could hand me something. It was two white plastic objects. Huxley is always handing me stuff, so I figured these were just fragments of some toy or something. I took them and refocused my attention on the radar blog.

Once I had taken the two white plastic objects from him, Huxley toddled off. Toward the closed bathroom door. Then he opened the door and went in. That’s when it dawned on me: He had disassembled the door handle cover, walked the fragmented remains over to me and turned them in (“Ah, dad, this item won’t be needed any more, you might want to put it in a box in the garage or something.”) and then walked back to the still-closed door. Then he opened it effortlessly, as per normal.

So, Amanda, if you read this, I don’t want to say I told you so or anything, but we’re suddenly out of toilet paper in the bathroom.