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Zoë was being a complete pill before bed. Then, apparently wracked by insomnia and guilt over her behavior, she crawled out of bed, procured art supplies, and produced the following - which she solemnly presented to me, sitting and reading my Chris Ware book in the office. The carrot, she explained is 'fake'.
For some reason this article in the Times about a mogul who his building his own 'hip' 'cool' golf club in the Hamptons really cracks me up.
The clubhouse — glassy and aggressively futuristic — looks more like a contemporary art museum in Berlin, which is not inappropriate, since it will feature, upon its completion this fall, art from Mr. Rubin’s collection. A satirical piece called “Arthur Negro I,” a life-size statue of a black revolutionary in an argyle sweater and plus fours, by Charles McGill, a black artist, will stand in the pro shop.
You really need to click through and see the sculpture. Having satirical lawn jockeys in your country club does not suffice to make it cool. In fact, it makes you look like a jerk. The NYT is trying to salvage this guy's good name by pointing out that the artist is black, but...
Mr. Ferris said the sort of person who will feel most welcome at the Bridge is a new generation of Hamptonite. This generation tended to make its money on Wall Street during the freewheeling 1990’s or in the hedge fund or real estate explosions of recent years but lacks the pedigree or connections to join, say, the Shinnecock Hills Golf Club, the National Golf Links of America or the Maidstone Club on the South Fork (although several Bridge members hold memberships at multiple local clubs, Mr. Rubin said).
"Several"? Suuuuure.
“The thing about the Maidstone is that you can have all the money in the world, and it won’t help you,” Mr. Columbia said. “They care about your last name."
This is where I come in. Everyone in my family on my mom's side belongs to the Maidstone. I used to go there for summer camp. I'm very fond of it, and I object to it changing in any way (although the food has gotten better and I'm fine with that.) I want to see deeply tanned old men in pale pink but originally brick red pants! Widewale courduroy pants with whales embroidered on them! Lilly Pulitzer! Coral toenails and lime green Ferragamo slides! I disapprove of trophy wives who wear diamond jewelry to the beach and scorn them openly! You get the picture. It's echt-WASP parochialism, and I like it that way. Of course, I like it that way from afar, and I go there once or twice every two years. I like knowing it's there, though. Please note that I recognize it is snobby and ridiculous. It just has the virtue of being old, and old things seem more reasonable than new things, even if they are substantively the same. They even let Jewish people in now! Well, two, anyway. After a big fight.
“It’s [the Bridge] the most outside-the-box club in the United States, without question,” Mr. Ferris said proudly, wearing copper and turquoise Pumas, his silver locks tickling his shirt collar.
I wondered whether the Times was trying to make this guy come off as an ass. Now, where the silver locks meet the collar, I have my answer. "Dude, my hair's getting good in the back!" Anyway, clubs aren't supposed to be outside-the-box. It's oxymoronic.
Neil Barsky, 48, a hedge fund manager, recalled playing as a guest at Quaker Ridge Golf Club in Scarsdale, N.Y., a few years ago, when he ran into the father of a friend, who was a member: “I stuck out my hand, said, ‘Hi, Mr. So-and-so.’ He looked at me and said, ‘Tuck in your shirt, young man.’ I don’t think that would happen at the Bridge.”
Wait, that's a reason not to belong to Quaker Ridge? That's actually awesome, and do you know why? How often can a man of 45 plausibly be referred to as "young man", and be made to feel like a rebel who's sticking it to the older generation by not tucking in his shirt? People pay good money for that! Going to a club where the older members lord it over you gives you opportunities to break the rules and get that naughty teenagers have a beach party feeling when you're in your early fifties! And then when you get all old everyone will have to kiss your butt!
Not everyone in the Hamptons, however, accepts the notion that style is why people are joining the Bridge. Andrea Ackerman, the manager of the Brown Harris Stevens real estate offices in Southampton and Sag Harbor, said that the Atlantic Golf Course in Bridgehampton “was the answer to every golfer’s prayer who wanted to belong to a great golf club and couldn’t,” but now even the Atlantic is full, and moneyed golfers are simply clamoring for the next open spot they see. “The Bridge is more of an overflow from Atlantic than Shinnecock or Maidstone,” she said.
Ow, that hurt.
Mr. Rubin has no problem with the new-money aura of the Bridge. Even though some of his members also belong to the Shinnecock and the National, he seems to exercise a form of reverse snobbery against the old-money elites that set the tone at the more traditional clubs. To Mr. Rubin, who last weekend was strolling the hilly sun-dappled grounds of the Bridge looking unshaved and a bit rumpled in baggy navy shorts and sky-blue Chuck Taylors, some of those people probably aren’t quite right for the Bridge, either.
“People who haven’t made their money are very hesitant to spend $600,000 to join a golf club, and for good reason,” the self-made mogul said. “They have to be careful with their money.”
Oooh, snap! Cracker, please, with the Chuck Taylors. This whole enterprise is so fraught with snobbery and class anxiety. Do you want to belong to a golf club in the Hamptons? OK! You want to start a new one so all your cool pals can be in it, again, rock on, Richie Rich! But doing so does not make you a rebel, and bitterly complaining 'who cares if they won't let me into their club, they can't even afford my club, but it's not about the money, and I wouldn't let them in anyway nyah!' does not help your case. Also, you should have just shut the door on the Times reporter, dude, You had to know they were going to screw you, because the Gray Lady is the voice of the establishment, and turquiose and copper Pumas or no, you are a "52-year-old son of an appliance repairman, from Perth Amboy, N.J." Perth. Amboy.
"...even Gibbon's feline dissection of Christian meekness insinuating itself into the Roman mind ..."
From Peter Gay, The Enlightenment, an Interpretation, vol. 1 The Rise of Modern Paganism, p. 38. It's interesting how much work and opinion can be crammed into a cat like that.
I never put iTunes on shuffle. But I did, and it flattered me by instantly coughing up my first (and only) experiment with Apple's GarageBand, from two years ago. "The Candy-Sampled Clone They Call Bassoonman" (MP3). I had almost forgotten.
In other musical news (drawing on the fine selection of new albums featured in our sidebar), here's a good free track for you. Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, "Upon This Tidal Wave of Young Blood" (MP3). The guy does a good David Byrne.
Mmmm, cherries. This is also good way to use up any peaches or plums you've got lying around that are maybe getting overripe.
Filling:
2 lb black cherries, stemmed and halved and pitted
(5 plums and 2 white peaches--this is just what I happened to have. Anything summery along these lines you've got lying around would be good)
1/2 c sugar
juice of 1 lemon
1 t almond extract
2 T cornstarch
Biscuit Topping:
2 c cake flour
3 T sugar
1 T baking powder
1/2 t salt
1/2 t cinnamon
1 stick chilled unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
3/4 c half-and-half
1 egg
extra sugar to sprinkle
1. Preheat the oven to 350. Mix filling ingredients together in a 9x13 baking dish (seed and chop them over the dish too; it saves time and juice). Bake for 10-15 minutes, till bubbling.
2. Meanwhile, mix the flour, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon together with a fork. Cut in the butter with a pastry cutter or knives till well distributed. Beat the egg slightly and mix it with the half-and-half. (I just break it into the measuring cup with the half-and-half and stir it in there. Saves washing.)
3. Add the liquid to the dry ingredients and mix with fork till just combined and no more flour pockets remain. Plop spoonfuls of the dough onto the hot surface of the filling, spacing them evenly. Sprinkle 1-2 T more sugar on the top. Bake about 30 minutes, till browned and bubbling.
The secret to yummy biscuit-topped cobbler is to get the filling bubbling hot first. This ensures that the biscuits are cooked from above and below at the same time, so they don't become sodden with juice and heavy before they have a chance to become structurally stable. Also, cake flour helps. This is also the secret to making good strawberry shortcake biscuits (a lightly sweetened, rich biscuit dough made with cake flour.) This biscuit would be too tender to stand up to manly dinner-time accoutrements like pork chops, or butter and cane syrup, but is perfect for the "fainting flower of the south"-style required for dessert. The biscuits here would make a fine shortcake. Just combine with berries macerated in lemon juice and sugar, and lightly sweetened whipped cream. Mmmmm. Makes me wish I were in Oregon!
In case my Asian readers are wondering about this, yes, I paid Sing$25 for that kilo of cherries. I know, "Siao lah you!" "But very nice this one! Only now and then lah! August only have what! I try to resist also cannot."
I have commenced a new family tradition. On Sundays, Zoë and I ride the bus to our local library and she gets to check out four books. On our last visit, she came running up to me and announced, 'They've got books for daddies!' Of course she had discovered ... the quite extensive comic book section. So naturally I got myself a library card. This time I checked out out a nice, fat Peanuts Omnibus (1953-1956), a volume of Plastic Man, a Bendis Daredevil and ... Belle told me to check out a complete Sherlock Holmes with my fourth pick. So, for number four, I settled on Wonder Woman, the Complete History. When she pointed out there was no Sherlock in it, I refuted her thusly: it was designed by Chip Kidd. (Today I checked her out a nice Sherlock with original Strand Illustrations from the school library.)
Somehow before reading this book I was completely unaware that the creator of Wonder Woman was a very strange and interesting fellow. Read the wikipedia entry on William Marston. Harvard Ph.D., inventor of the lie detector, lived with his wife and lover for decades, fathering children with both. The two women named their children after each other and continued to live together after Marston's death.
Here he is responding to criticism of the pervasive bondage imagery in his book:
You scream, etc.
2 c milk
2 c heavy cream, divided
3/4 c sugar
3 eggs
1/2 c dutch-process cocoa
3.5 oz (100 g) best quality dark chocolate, 70% cocoa solids, chopped
1 t cinnamon
1/2 t cayenne pepper, optional
1. Beat eggs and sugar with whisk until lightened. Put 1/2 c of the cream, the cocoa and the chocolate into a heavy saucepan over medium-low heat and stir until chocolate is melted.
2. Add remaining cream and milk; raise heat to medium and bring almost to the boil, stirring frequently.
3. Stabilize the bowl with the eggs and sugar using a damp kitchen towel, or have somebody hold it. Pour the hot chocolate mixture into the egg mixture in a thin stream, while whisking constantly. Do not pour it in all at once or the eggs may scramble.
4. Rinse out saucepan with cold water; do not dry. Pour everything back into the saucepan and add cinnamon (and cayenne, if using). Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly and scraping the bottom, until mixture has thickened slightly and coats the back of a spoon. Don't overdo it. There is some temperature at which eggs are no longer dangerously raw--160 F or something? Anyway, as the custard's not stabilized, it could curdle, so easy does it. Also, I eat raw eggs, but Singapore doesn't have the salmonella problems America does due to use of more free range chickens. So I err on the side of underdone.
5. Pour custard through a sieve into a heatproof container. Cool immediately by putting container into a larger bowl full of ice water, then transfer to fridge to cool completely. Freeze in ice cream maker as directed. This is best eaten within a few days.
This recipe makes a little too much for my ice cream maker, but I think most US ones should handle it. Fill yours with water to see (while it's not cold or impenetrable ice will form), and scale back as needed. The cayenne pepper is nice, but I put 1/2 in my single cup of hot milk of an evening, so YMMV.
Today is Zoë's 5th birthday. Hooray! And when it's a birthday, only yellow cake will do. This is very quick to make and tastes like a box mix yellow cake that died and went to heaven. Don't skip the almond extract; it gives the cake an extra kick of yellow goodness.
Yellow Cake
Pam or butter for greasing pan(s)
1 stick (1/2 c) unsalted butter, softened
1 1/4 c sugar
2 eggs, room temperature
2 1/4 c cake flour
2 1/2 t baking powder
1/2 t salt
3/4 c milk
2 t vanilla
1 t almond extract
1. Grease pan(s) and preheat oven to 350. It's always good to line the pans with parchment paper and then grease the paper, but I often don't bother.
2. Mix butter and sugar till a bit fluffy, preferably in the bowl of a stand mixer with a paddle attachment, or using a hand-held mixer. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Mix for 5 minutes, till mixture is light and creamy and the sugar is dissolving.
3. Meanwhile, sift the flour, baking powder and salt together. Add the vanilla and almond extract to the milk.
4. Add the flour mixture in 3 parts, alternating with the milk mixture, beginning and ending with dry ingredients. Stir just till combined after each addition; do not over mix or the cake will be tough.
5. Pour batter into prepared pans and bake. Two 9-inch round layers will take about 20 minutes. One sheet cake pan will take 30-35. Cupcakes (I suggest you use paper liners for ease of turning out, and also because it looks cute) about 15 minutes. In any case, the top should be golden brown and spring back lightly when pressed, and a tester should come out clean or with just a few crumbs. Let cool on rack in pan till just warm, then turn out to cool completely.
Frost as desired. I just use plain old butter-cream frosting (i.e., unsalted butter, confectioner's sugar, a little milk and vanilla, plus cocoa if you want it chocolate). This is nice split and sandwiched with fresh fruit and whipped cream. You can also bake all the batter in one round pan and then split it to make Boston Cream Pie by filling it with cold vanilla pudding and topping it with chocolate glaze frosting. Mmmm, Boston Cream Pie...
Wow, my mom sure was a babe back in the swinging 60's. Of course faithful readers know my mom is still a babe.
This is a tasty pie I invented yesterday, unless it's a tart. Well, now that I think about it, I guess it's a tart, because it is open-faced and cold and glaze-y. It has black cherries and white chocolate. maybe it's a black and white tart? Submit your preferred name in comments. This is very easy to make, so I encourage you all to do so.
Crust:
1 1/3 c crushed digestive biscuits (like McVitie's) or graham crackers
2 t melted unsalted butter
2 T white sugar
1. Preheat oven to 375 F. Mix all ingredients together and press onto bottom and slightly up sides of a springform pan. Bake 10 minutes until lightly browned. Let cool on rack.
White Chocolate Filling (this is the same as the tart from the other day)
8 oz best-quality white chocolate, chopped
6 1/2 t unsalted butter, chopped
2 t vanilla
2 t heavy cream + 3 T liqueur (maraschino?) or use all cream
1. Put all ingredients into a microwave-safe bowl and microwave on medium for 2 minutes or so, looking at it from time to time. When it looks mostly but not completely melted, take it out and stir till smooth. Let cool a little.
Black Cherry Topping
1 lb black cherries, halved and pitted. (This is really the most time consuming part, so if you can make someone else do it that's a good idea. Just don't tell them about how easy the rest is.)
1/3 c sugar
juice of one lemon
1 t almond extract (or if you actually have maraschino, use 2 t of that)
2 t gelatin
1. Bring all ingredients except gelatin to boil in a heavy bottom saucepan and cook for 1 minute or so. Pour into a seive or colander placed over a bowl.
2. When juice has drained through, add gelatin slowly to hot liquid, whisking all the while, and whisk vigorously until it is dissolved. Add cherries back to juice/gelatin mixture.
3. Let cool; preferably, set the bowl with the cherries in a larger bowl full of ice water and stir until it is no longer hot.
To Assemble:
1. Pour white chocolate mixture over crust and stick it in the freezer (or fridge) to firm up a little.
2. Pour cherry stuff over top and let set, at least two hours. Eat.
So I say to Zoë: 'hand me that cube over there' [ostending the item in question.] She says: 'what's a cube?' An explanation ensues, in terms of squareness and the third dimension. Zoë: 'I don't think that's a good name for it.' Me: 'What would be a good name, do you think?' Zoë [thinks]: 'Glorious Princess.' Hmmmm.
Also, Mei Mei said something funny. But first she hit her sister in the nose. Me: 'Mei Mei, say sorry to big sister.' Mei Mei [thinks]: 'No thank you.'
I've been reading one of these el-cheapo volumes DC has started churning out. Specifically,Superman Showcase - or, as I like to call it: 'Superman: the Weird Inferences About Statues Years'.
Yes, there's no chance that the Atlanteans collected action figures.
But you might object: surely Superman is in fact drawing his conclusion from the statue AND the solid gold spaceship. Fair enough. Then riddle me this?
So what's the premise here? 'For all x, where x is a person who owns a life-sized wax statue of y, y is not equal to x'? That's probably not true for, like, Michael Jackson (I'm just guessing.)
Also, Superman turns into a lion and a bunch of other stuff. And here's a sentence: "Intrepidly, the girl reporter arranges for a deep descent into the watery unknown ..." Good stuff.
Yay! The launch of my brother's company's orbital module went off as planned (at long last, may I say. Ben has been stuck in a Russian missile fscility near the Khazakstan border, eating dubious metballs, for like 8 weeks now.)
Thanks to a boost today from a Russian and Ukrainian rocket-for-hire company, a U.S. private space firm has sent a novel expandable module toward Earth orbit—and a step forward in providing commercial space habitats.
Bigelow Aerospace of North Las Vegas, Nevada is flying prototype hardware that the firm anticipates will advance habitable structures in space to carry out research and manufacturing, among other tasks.
The Genesis-1 module was lofted skyward atop a Dnepr booster under contract with ISC Kosmotras. The rocket—a converted Cold War SS-18 Intercontinental Ballistic Missile—roared out of its silo from the Yasny Launch Base, an active Russian strategic missile facility....
Once the module is in orbit, command and control of the hardware will be done through a futuristic-looking Bigelow Aerospace Mission Control Center in North Las Vegas. Ground operators there will also receive video and images from Genesis-1.
There is the potential, [my bro's boss Mike] Gold pointed out, for Genesis-1 to remain in orbit for years with the company's space engineers hoping to learn how the module's systems withstand the harsh space environment—including exposure to natural and human-made space debris, as well as radiation. Extensive testing of the expandable module that's fashioned out of advanced soft-goods material has been done both in the United States and in the Ukraine, he said.
You can also read further updates on this guy's space.com blog, and more about Bigelow's inflatable space modules here and here. I feel like this is something all the nerds in the blogosphere can get behind, regardless of their politics.
Would you like to read a really depressing article about Afghanistan? No? How about this fun article by Iain M. Banks on how to build your own Orbital in 14 E-Z steps (AI Mind not included)? My favorite ever Culture ship-Mind name is "I Thought He Was With You." I also read some stuff about Iraq today that is so disturbing I'll do you all the favor of not linking to it. Don't thank me, thank the powers of mental misdirection and denial! Look, Cute Overload! In other war related news, Zoë revealed her future plans as President Zoë of the USA (yes, yes, they'll amend the consitution). "When I'm president I won't fight any wars." Thoughtfully eats ice cream. "Unless somebody attacks us, then we'll just have to kill them." So young, yet so wise.
The Editors are really on fire. I'm hard pressed to pick a favorite line from this post. Enjoy this tantalizing comparison between straight-up White Pride nuttery on the one hand, and the subtler facets of Tacitus on the other:
I propose that, once you chase off the Cho-dog MacGuffin, there is not a single significant difference between the two statements, except that one came directly from a weirdly angry person on Earth, while the other was routed through a nebula of inchoate rage orbiting the LSD-ocean world of Pomposion IX.
Let's all say that again, "a nebula of inchoate rage orbiting the LSD-ocean world of Pomposion IX." Mmm, savoury. There's more, so read the whole thing.
I invented these last month, and each time I cook more, and each time at the end of the meal John starts looking around the kitchen vainly. "Did we eat them all?"
1 1/2 lb shrimp
2 T teriyaki sauce
6 cloves garlic, minced
1 c coarse polenta (the Bob's Red Mill stone-ground one is nice, and if you live in Singapore you can get it at Tanglin Mall!)
2 T flour
salt, pepper, cayenne pepper
vegetable oil for deep-frying
1. Take the heads off the shrimp, peel them leaving the last section and tail on, and butterfly them. Let them marinate with the teriyaki sauce and garlic in the fridge for 40 minutes or whatever.
2. Put polenta, flour, salt, pepper, and cayenne in a bag and mix. Take the shrimp out of the fridge. Heat oil in a dutch-oven over high heat until it gets rilly, rilly hot. Let's say, until a bluish haze starts to form over the oil and a cube of bread put in is well-browned in 30 seconds.
3. Drain any extra liquid off the shrimp, and then put them in the bag with the polenta. Shake to coat. You can fry them all in one batch. I'd say it takes 1-2 minutes. More like 1 minute. Take them out with a skimmer and put on brown paper. EAT. Try not to burn your fingers too much.
Sauce:
This is pretty flexible, you could put whatever. Substituting Greek-style yogurt for part of the mayo is nice.
3/4 c mayonnaise
juice of 1 lemon (or limes)
1 T dijon mustard
4-5 chopped cornichon pickles, or go for sweet and put drained hot dog relish, also nice
2-3 serrano chilis, chopped into extremely thin rounds on the diagonal
salt and pepper and chili flakes
chopped fresh herbs, such as chives, cilantro, sweet basil, flat-leaf parsley
1. Make like Sir Mixalot.
This is really very tasty and I recommend it to you all. It would be a nice party snack, though I don't know how it would hold up keeping warm in the oven. All fried things are good party foods, but all fried things are best eaten right away; it's like some kind of paradox, man. Its the big nubbly bits of fried corn grits that make it good. You can let the oil cool completely, skim the loose polenta off the top, and then pour it carefully through a seive lined with a kitchen towel, being careful not to disturb the sediment at the bottom. It can now be re-used, but only to fry seafood. Well, okra would probably be OK too. Best to keep it in the fridge if it's hot, I think.
I have been working on our Plato translation a lot lately, and I'm finally getting back up to speed, which is nice. Part of the problem is that my only copy of the Republic is an ancient Teubner from the 1890's, with a peculiarly baroque font. (Also notes drawn in spidery pen and ink). This new Oxford Classical Text, by contrast has an E-Z to read font, making the Euthphro a breeze. I think I even objected to it at one time, but it's legible as hell! I think the Euthyphro should have been dramatized by Mel Blanc:
Euthyphro: (in Abominable Snowman voice) Duuuuh, and that's not all! I could tell you lots and lots of things about the gods that would real-ly sur-prise you.
Socrates: (in Bugs Bunny voice) Yeeah, I can just imagine. Fasckinating stuff. Someday when you've got a whole lot of time on your hands we'll sit down and you can tell me aaaaalllll about it. But in the meantime, would you hold this while I go powder my nose? (Hands Euthyphro fizzing bomb.)
Euthyphro: Duuuh, okay Socrates.
BOOM!
So I'm reading Legion of Super-Heroes, vol. 8. As a result, this post is going out to all the ladies - I mean lasses. But boys and kids of all ages will like it, too. I tell you the tale of ... issue #368, May 1968!
Legion comics suffer from a tendency toward the 3-panel disaster story. (A building is falling over. Oh no, Karate Kid's karate is not strong enough to catch a building. Mon-El catches the building.) So nothing seems out of place when the visiting ambassador's ship just blows up for no reason. What stuns our boys is the figure who emerges from the burning craft. Superboy: "*GASP* The ambassador ... a woman!" The ambassador is equally shocked. "You're in charge? A male?" "Of course." "You mean earth still has a primitive patriarchal society ... ruled by men?" Invisible Kid: "We have a patriarchal background - but we believe in equality of the sexes." (Chew on that.)
Later, back in Legion headquarters ... when the boys are away, talk turns to curtain rods. "What do you think of this color, Vi?" "File that pattern into the robo-sewing machine, Phantom Girl, while I get the curtain rods!"" "Aren't these color-changing chameleoid rugs just fab, Shadow Lass?"
Yet thoughts of the strange events of the morning obtrude into this idyll of domesticity. Nothing about the giant explosion, of course. Princess Projectra: "What did you think of that woman ambassador, Irma? She sounded as if she believed girls should dominate the universe." Saturn Girl: "That's pretty hard to imagine with guys like Superboy and Mon-El around." "Oh, I don't know! Supergirl's every bit as strong a they are!" Supergirl: "Not really! Though our strength has never been accurately measured, theoretically, Superboy is stronger than I, just as a normal boy is stronger than a normal girl!" I think the exclamation points really add excitement to the dialogue! And now we are seeing our theme! It would really be a problem if women were as strong as men!
The splash page already foretold as much. Shrinking Violet is chirping about how she is now the biggest legionnairre, blah blah blah and Invisible Kid, Lightning Lad and Superboy sing a mournful chorus: "And we boys are the saddest legionnaires ... since the girls' powers got beefed up .. and we became victims of 'The Mutiny of the Super-Heroines!'" Anyway, it turns out the ambassador has a plan for a feminist revolution, and the key is giving the girls more power. She does this thing with some statues. Now the girls are powerful, they make the boys look like schmucks. Invisible Kid tries to order them all into quarantine on the theory that they must have some sort of space disease, but the girls bust out to save the guys, who have screwed up again in stopping a jail break. The boys claim to have had some brilliant plan for stopping the break ... and you girls get back to quarantine! Fight! Now the girls are mad! The boys are getting kicked. "We've decided you're too weak to be in the Legion, so we're taking over and you're out!" "Why don't you guys form a Loser's Legion of your own? Ha, ha!" The poor boys. Supergirl is feeling vaguely sorry for them, but a twist of the ambassador's bracelet fixes that. "They'll think completely as I do! Then they'll turn earth into a matriarchy!" See under the fold for a few scans.
Continue reading "Brainiac 5 would have to do chores! - or - the Feminist Mistake!" »
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