I respond to comments to yesterday's evening's post "I walked down to State Street to get a cup of coffee and ran into a gay pride parade."

Chuck said: "Professor Althouse, having lived briefly in your lovely neighborhood myself, I happen to know that for you to 'walk down to State Street for a cup of coffee,' you'd have had to bypass three or four other pretty wonderful coffee shops. Are you being coy about why you walked at least two miles, the better part of an hour, to the scene of the Gay Pride Parade at the very moment it was starting?"

I like to go for walks, and I usually motivate myself by setting a destination and a reward, like ice cream at the Union Terrace or coffee at Colectivo on Monroe Street. There's a new Colectivo on State Street, and I decided to go there again and make it a longer walk. On the way I stopped at the Chazen Museum...



... and I arrived on State Street just as the paraders were amassing in the staging area. I walked up a couple blocks, positioned myself on a corner and waited a mere 5 minutes before the parade began. Got my planned coffee about 20 minutes later.

Humperdink said: "Yep, throw your sexuality in my face (and others) again and again and again. That'll win us over."

Their sexuality is firmly entrenched on the other side of your face, in your head. No sexuality was thrown in anyone's face. In fact, the parade was completely unsexy. There were people in matching T-shirts indicating membership in some good-doing group. There were hockey players. The dressed-up folks looked rather bored. Some tamely danced. The liveliest float was the one for the Methodist church — not included in the edit — with a little band playing "When the Saints Go Marching In." There were a couple vote-for-me politicians at the front of the parade, right after the lead-off motorcyclists. Near the back of the parade — what symbolism! — was a "black lives matter" group and a Latino group. Seriously, it was the polar opposite of in-your-face sexuality.

David said: "Overwhelmingly white, as usual in Smugsville...."

It's Madison. And my iPhone ran out of space before the "black lives matter" group arrived.

Curious George said: "Hey was that justice fora day JoAnne 'I won' Kloppenberg at :05? I think it was. Same 'Deer in the headlight' stare. I'm guessing she got lost and decided to follow the shiny things."

That was, indeed, JoAnne Kloppenburg. She's running for Supreme Court Justice again. I don't know why politicians are put at the front of a parade like this. It bugged me, especially since the "black lives matter" political cause was relegated to the back.

JZ said: "Gay seems like the wrong word to me...."

That has got to be the tritest observation on the subject. Maybe if you'd said that 40 years ago, it would be fresh.

lgv said: "Why are they proud. They say they were born that way. It's like being proud of being left handed. One can be proud of their accomplishments, but I'm not sure that being proud of something you cannot control, like genetics, is illogical. Anyone's pride is not worthy of a parade to advertise it, either."

I didn't see the word "pride" anywhere or hear anyone proclaiming pride. I used the term "gay pride" because it's traditional, originating, I assume, in a desire to cancel the shame that had been culturally imposed. Now that the culture has changed, the word is perhaps a relic that could be discarded, but it's not yet the case that everyone who finds himself to be gay is free of shame, and there's something to be said for tradition.

Renee said: "Honestly, it wasn't that bad. No corporate sponsors. Just people who come in support ina peaceful manner."

Maybe you were distracted by the cute Pomeranian, but the man on the other end of the leash was holding one end of a sign that read: "American Family Insurance/Proud Sponsor."

walter said: "[T]hey clearly need to get the word out if Ann encountered it through happenstance. So why not join the parade, Ann?"

I'm not good at keeping track of Madison events. I just stumble into them sometimes. People who care about events check Facebook and Isthmus and whatever. I prefer places on normal days. I can't imagine actually being one of the paraders... in any parade. 

Assignments given to me in the comments.

1. "The hula hoop thing was github. Google github and hula hoop. It was a story with lots of hidden stuff, office romance, etc., so don't take any one article as definitive. I don't trust my memory enough to tell the tale, but my take away was that hiring the lady in question was a mistake. I'll add that the two women who did the hula hoops, did them at a company party and were not the ones who complained. The lady who complained cited it as a horrible example of the sexist atmosphere at the company when she quit."

2. "Go ahead and elaborate on your (brief!) 12:24 PM statement, and describe some scenarios and how you think they might play out under various levels of 'character' or the lack thereof." And, 2 days later after no response from me: "Yeah... so I guess when a student tries to give the professor an assignment, it doesn't usually work?"

Answers:

"And for those of you who've been emailing me asking me why I didn't do more with the Screwtape Letters, more like Gatsby..."

"... my answer to that is that the lack of interest in the question asked in this post shows why that project doesn't fly. The Gatsby project flew. It turned on minds that accepted the turn-on and took off."

The last line of my comment explaining why I have yet to fulfill what may seem to be a promise to complete an assignment I really only gave myself.

And this post gets not only a Gatsby project tag, but also a written strangely early in the morning tag.

It's okay if you don't volunteer to sit for my outside-of-law-school exams. I have plenty of exams written by nonvolunteers that I am duty-bound to read. This post is about a duty I felt I had to write the answer to my own exam, which I only gave because I wanted to write that answer. But if the question inspired no one else, then I tend to think that my answer would only have seemed weird or annoying or — the worst — unreadable.

Or is that the worst? The devil nags me to ask. The devil says: Wouldn't it be a fascinating new project to write a blog called "Unreadable Things"?

James Fallows: "I shouldn't have called Gov. Rick Perry's reference to Galileo during this week's Republican debate 'flat-out moronic.'"

"That's mean talk that I shouldn't use about anyone, and I'm sorry." He's saying that after "reflection, and in response to a torrent of near- identically phrased outraged mail...."

Not much of a backtrack. Here's where we talked about him yesterday. I don't know if I'm responsible for any or much of his "outraged mail," but if you feel like going over there now and telling him off, please word your email in a manner that displays the unique person that is you.

I answer your questions.

Yesterday, I noted the questions each of which, according to SiteMeter, brought 1 person to this blog. I intended only to mock, but then I actually answered the questions. Why should I mock? I can answer the questions and do some small particle of good in this world.

In that spirit, let's answer today's questions:

who is msm?

A miserable left-wing fool.

what type of jobs will obama create?

According to Rush Limbaugh, today, these will be military jobs, and you won't need to apply for them. You will be drafted.

what to stockpile for an economic crisis?

Bottled water, peanut butter, toilet paper, powdered milk, granola, and V8 Juice — as much as you can fit in your house.

what happened in the movie doubt?

Meryl Streep pursed her lips and Philip Seymour Hoffman got red in the face.

what do men wear to sleep in?

Shorts.

Questions that brought 1 visitor to my blog today.

From SiteMeter.

why do men like collarbones?
why do i want to be fat ?
when you die and they embalm you what happens to your penis?
what verb tense does chief bromden employ in one flew over the cuckoos nest?
what is it with black men and beards?
what does they were almost palpable mean?
what do 40 year old women look like?

IN THE COMMENTS: Original George said...

Love, peace, and compassion were surrounding me. They were almost palpable. It was incredible. I was in total bliss. Even the foosball players hesitated long enough to appreciate the elongated notes as he suspended them in midair until they were almost palpable. They were almost palpable. For three weeks we had felt it, touched it almost; it engulfed us; it was warm. We were completely infatuated. Brass and woodwind players were on stage, and in the balcony, swinging their instruments and playing chords so dense they were almost palpable. They were almost palpable, and it was very easy to feel sorry for her character because of the injustices she suffered from her husband. With the international community frowning heavily upon him and local expectations becoming so strong, they were almost palpable. I felt that the passion, ambition, revenge, tension, etc. were so descriptive that they were almost palpable. The narrator also did a stunning job of bringing memories materialized from the walls, so strong they were almost palpable. Grandpop bursting through the front door, the decibel level skyrocketing off the cries of outrage were so intense, they were almost palpable. How could the writers do this to us? Did they not know that Jane would never try out? For upon the eyeballs, affecting the sight as though they were almost palpable to the touch, the dews had not descended, but the leaves were still wet.

What happens when you Google the phrase "they were almost palpable."

He's right! And here I was reading that and trying to understand where the mind of OrigGeo was going with that story.

Meanwhile, Jennifer says...

Oh, I thought we were speaking of one curious surfer who kept ending up at Althouse no matter what new question they came up [with]. That was a funnier mental image.

... and I laugh out loud.