Scenes from yesterday’s all-purpose-protest-cum-socialist-danceathon in New York City:  

“Having less is actually very freeing.”

Kaitlyn Schallhorn discovers some intimate probing in the name of “social justice”: 

Does the university need to know if I had oral or normal sex in the last three months after I’ve been drinking alcohol or using drugs recreationally, or if I used a condom during? They don’t need to know that for a gender equality questionnaire.

Because modern academia still isn’t sufficiently creepy.

A headline that may amuse: 

Occupy Wall Street activists sue each other over who owns the movement’s Twitter account.

But gosh, they were doing so well. 

For newcomers, more items from the archives.

When the Onion is Redundant. 

Paul Krugman and Polly Toynbee are awfully concerned by how much you earn. Themselves, not so much.

When very well-heeled ‘progressives’ decry income inequality as at the very least something to be fixed, and fixed urgently, at what point can we expect the people saying this to act as if it were true? I mean, act individually, themselves, in accord with their own professed values and imperatives. Curiously, the most typical position is to do nothing whatsoever unless the state acts coercively against everyone, thereby deferring any personal action aside from the usual mouthing. And so inevitably that mouthing looks a lot like chaff, a way to divert the envy and tribalism they’re so happy to inspire in others: “Yes, I’m loaded, but look at those people over there – the ones who disagree with us – they have slightly more, or almost as much. Let’s all hiss at them.”

Clinging to the Teats. 

Gender studies lecturer Hila Shachar doesn’t think the public should have any say in how its money is spent.

Dr Shachar is careful not to explain the “contribution to society” made by her own work, or by the humanities research projects that were highlighted as examples of non-essential spending, including a $164,000 grant for studying “how urban media art can best respond to global climate change.” Or by the boldly titled research project Queering Disasters in the Antipodes, which hopes to probe the “experiences of LGBTI people in natural disasters” and ultimately provide “improved disaster response” to gay people, whose needs in such circumstances are apparently quite different from those of everyone else. The princely sum of $325,183 has been spent on this endeavour.

Their Mighty Brains Will Save Us. 

The Guardian unveils its hot and sassy trainee journalists. A snapshot of the nation and its everyday concerns.

There’s Emma Howard, 26, who studied English in Leicester and Strasbourg and lists her credentials as “community organising” and “having fun with other social activists,” which, we learn, “can mean standing on the street with placards.” “I think about power a lot,” says she. Podcast enthusiast Fred McConnell, 27, is the sole male in a group of ten and tells us that, “After university I headed to Afghanistan to produce multimedia for a skateboard charity.” As one does. And there’s Hannah Jane Parkinson, 24, who “performs poetry” and whose areas of expertise are “lifestyle and pop culture.” Ms Parkinson is “from Liverpool, but moved to Russia to drink vodka and play at being Lara from Dr Zhivago.” She moved again, to London, “for a great job,” one in which she “got to look at cat gifs.” “I couldn’t be happier at the Guardian,” says Ms Parkinson. “It’s where I always wanted to work.”

There’s more, should you want it, in the greatest hits. 

Dreadlock Truth is a vital resource for fans of countercultural hair and the generally hair-conscious. Among its nuggets are tips on upkeep, colouring and decoration, and where to find accommodating employers. (Book shops and health food markets are recommended.) There are of course photo galleries. Other subjects of interest include energy-channelling, mushroom use, coping with flashbacks, and mental health services.

Oh, and there’s a lovely section on lice: 

Pull your dreads up and try to bun them up if you can, or at least pull them into a high ponytail. Use about a half bottle of rubbing alcohol (70% or higher)… Tie a plastic bag tightly around your head for about 30 minutes. It’ll itch and it’s annoying and stinky, but it’ll kill the bugs. Rinse, and watch the bugs fall out.

The site also includes message boards devoted to “dance and object manipulation,” with subcategories covering stilt-walking, juggling and hoop-dancing, and a section in which dreadlocked adventurers share their tales of “injuries sustained in the pursuit of happiness.” One 230 lb gentleman explains how, “I once almost knocked myself out dancing at a local concert,” while another devotee relates the perils of poi, a form of performance art involving the spinning of tethered weights, sometimes enhanced with glow stick chemicals and/or fire: 

I extinguished a flaming poi with my eye once. Luckily it was burning low and about to go out anyways.

Much to learn, so little time. Via MeFi.