Mohammed, Pat Robertson and Sartre Walk into a Bar

Two days without a working computer is tough. My poor little laptop kept fritzing-- including, once, during one of my fall exams-- and I have sent it off to IBM headquarters in Memphis for some fixing. I know that my absence has been rough on my devoted readership, all two of you, but hang tight: I should get the computer back on Friday. Meanwhile, I'm working in the hallowed, halogen lighted halls of Harvard's law library.

My marvelous, charming cousin Manu (whose lovely wife is dancing alongside him in this photo) sends a link to this wacked-out screed against fundamentalist Muslims. The writer seems to think they have too-big a chip on their shoulders. [Don't worry, M-- I quite understand you by no means endorse it.] Well, as my marvelous, charming cousin Bobby (whose lovely wife is standing beside him here) points out out, that chip just resembles the one that Jews and others have about the Holocaust.

Blah, blah, blah. The situation is too absurd, sad and seemingly intractable to deal with constructively and you know, we are Too Small to Make a Difference, so we're moving on. To...Pat Robertson, who most usefully reminds us that if Muslims are taking over the world, it's all Sartre's fault. Apparently, Europeans are committing autocide by reading too much existentialism. (I can see his point: someone like Bourdieu is much sexier.)