As I was browsing NPR this morning I came across a story on the reinstatement of four excommunicated bishops by Pope Benedict IV. Normally the machinations of the Catholic Church are not something I scrutinize all that closely. But this case is different: One of the four newly vindicated bishops, Richard Williamson of Great Britain, is an avowed Holocaust denier. In an interview that aired on Swedish television last week Williamson made his position on subject clear:

"I believe that the historical evidence is hugely against 6 million Jews having been deliberately gassed in gas chambers as a deliberate policy of Adolf Hitler."

No, Bishop, it was all a grand hoax, a sort of living theater. Just a big joke, really. But one perpetuated with such stunning authenticity as to almost seem real. I suppose the most eye opening aspect of this story is the knowledge that this type of pig headed racist stupidity is not limited to Iranian extremists or illiterate white supremacisits hiding out in armed bunkers.

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Nudists in the Pacific Northwest can breathe a sigh of relief today. Earlier this week the city's parks board refused to ban non-offensive public nudity, despite some complaints from the public. Nude events featuring freaky painted neo-hippies are therefore likely continue in the near future (among the most famous are the Solstice Parade and the World Naked Bike Ride), although perhaps under, uh, tighter scrutiny.

I'm all for this kind of free-spirited self expression. I just always thought Seattle was a little wet, cold and chilly.

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"For that is the true genius of America--that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow."

As Hunter S. Thompson said, history is hard to know because of all the hired bullshit. But every so often we come upon a moment that feels historic. Last night was one of them. Now, of course, comes the hard part. Making the changes we can believe in will take hard work and sacrifice. But at least we've taken the right first step.

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When Michael Johnson set the 200 meter world record in Atlanta in 1996 (running a blazing quick 19.32) track and field gurus said that was a benchmark that would stand for generations. Conventional wisdom had it that anybody alive to have watched that event would go to their graves with the record still intact.

So much for long term prognostications.

Usain Bolt obliterated the field in Beijing. Sprints, especially those involving the most elite athletes in the world, are usually photo finishes. But Bolt was lengths ahead of the second place finisher. To put his feat in perspective, covering the distance he did in the time he ran (especially the back half--the second 100 meters) means he was moving at close to 25 miles per hour. That's nearly top speed for a Yugo.

The frightening this is that he's not yet reached his peak. See you in London, pal.

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That seems to be the premise of a Slate piece today by the insightful Troy Patterson, who argues that, above all else, she has a sense of humor with regard to herself. Witness, as exhibit one, her self-satirization in Borat. All of this may be true, but the line that stopped me short was this one:

This is not a bimbo: Wherever else the woman's tongue may have been, it is often found in her cheek.

It's a swell piece of writing, to be sure. And it also offers a terse summary of his premise. My problem with it are the visuals it conjures. I prefer to live my life without thinking about Tommy Lee or Kid Rock in any circumstances whatsoever (as do, I believe, most sentient human beings). Needless to say, that wasn't possible as I tried to enjoy my first cup of coffee this morning, while reading this story.

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