Does anybody have an explanation for why WordPress is trying to force people to go to its Homepage so desperately?

The following policy has been protested by crowds of bloggers, yet WordPress insists on inconveniencing many of its faithful users for some mysterious reason.

It happens only too often that a company creates an amazing product and then can’t stop futzing with it. I’ve been thinking about this today as I tried to dig out two lone cans of the original Hunts tomato paste from the huge selection of inferior new-fangled variations on the perfect original.

Some things don’t need to be improved because they are perfect as they are.

First of all, what a disgusting ad. Please don’t watch it if you are likely to be triggered for domestic violence. If you are sure you can deal with it (and once again, it’s very disturbing if I had to put in a trigger warning), here it is:

There are two things that I can’t understand about this ad. One, how is it possible for anybody to argue that this is not a domestic abuse ad but a happy sexuality ad? Have such people even seen sexually fulfilled women? A newsflash: we do not look miserable, downtrodden and beaten like the woman in the ad. We look glowing, happy and our eyes sparkle.

And another question that might seem frivolous in this context but I still need to ask it because I’m confused. How are the people in this ad making a connection between a vegan diet and a greater capacity to perform in men? I have nothing against veganism, but this just makes no sense. Everybody has their own experiences, of course, but the formula I have observed for as long as I have been sexually active is “lots of beef = tons of sex, less beef = less sex, no beef = very little sex.”

I understand that in very warm climates vegan diets make a lot of sense, but the ad is obviously not set in the tropics. In that kind of a climate, one’s sexual performance will not improve, to put it mildly, as a result of this kind of eating regimen.

N and I decided to have lunch at a local restaurant today. It turned out that half of the waiters at that place are my students. This made it impossible for me to have an enjoyable meal because I felt that I needed to set a good example with everything I did.

I was going to have a hamburger but, instead, chose a salad.

I did not even consider having a glass of wine.

I kept my elbows off the table.

And I paid the check even though it was N.’s turn because that was an important feminist lesson.

I also had to answer the question that haunts me in nightmares: “So how do you say. . . in Spanish?”

As much as I love eating out, a quiet meal at home where I can eat all I want, drop food all over myself and avoid translating everything into Spanish seems quite attractive.