the known unknown

I was talking to a friend yesterday who said, in the midst of a heavy-duty conversation about life and religion, "I can't figure out whether you're a Christian or an agnostic."

I told her I felt the same way about myself. I have no idea if I'm one or the other.

I believe in a supreme being. But I don't believe that with the strength and absolute conviction that I believe my husband loves me.

I believe in a supreme being but realize I may be wrong. I believe in an afterlife but realize I may be wrong. I believe in a Christian God but realize I may be wrong.

I believe that's called doubt. The opposite is believing without question, or blind faith. I know I don't have blind faith.

So I guess I believe in doubt or with doubt. I believe, but there's always a big asterisk next to that.

I believe trying to be a good person is the most important thing in life, with good meaning I don't harm other people physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually. I can still be a good person and lie about your new skirt not making you look fat. I can't be a good person if I hurt you intentionally.

I've never worried about whether something I do is a "sin," because if no other person is harmed, potentially or actually, then whether some established theology thinks of me as "bad" is irrelevant. If having earned a living naked or fucking a man before marriage was a "sin," no one was harmed, so I don't care what some theologically conversant person thinks. That would make me a "sinner" in some theologies.

I also believe, if a supreme being exists and/or the Christian God exists, then he or she could care less that I danced naked for money or fucked men before I was married. The husband is perfectly okay with my past, so I don't think it need concern any theologian or deity.

So I pray to a supreme being who may or may not exist. I pray that I will always try to be good to other people because I think it's the right and human thing to do. I don't worry if a deity is keeping a score sheet on my bedroom behavior or employment attire.

the road not taken

I read something yesterday where the writer claimed that Robert Frost's famous poem "The Road Not Taken" (full text) had become a cliche. It is now universally taught in American and English schools. Because of that, as the writer posited, the poem has been "adopted as an anthem by wannabe rebels who fundamentally misunderstand it."

So how is that Robert Frost's fault? Does that mean the poem should just be ignored? That it is of lesser importance simply because it's popular and possibly not always understood?

And who are you, Mr. Critic, to decide that you understand it so well and other people misunderstand it? Have you personally questioned each of them to determine that they did, in fact, misunderstand it?

That aside, I don't care what Mr. Critic thinks: I still like the poem and other Frost poems, too. I've liked "The Road Not Taken" ever since I first read it when I was about eleven or so. Does that make me impossibly provincial and commonplace to still like it?

Frost could articulate simple wisdom in a way few other writers could, thus making him widely accessible. While those who aspire to be great aesthetes might find him shopworn, I refuse to think of myself as somehow inferior for continuing to like his poems.

porn that's safe for work

I absolutely howled with laughter when I saw this. The phone dialing in particular just killed me. Now I'm gonna say to my husband, "oooh, baby, dial my phone some more."

Yes, this porn can be viewed at work and shared with others. You can even share it with your grandmother, your clergyman, and your boss.

classic cool

Speaking as a sometimes professional model, IMHO models as a whole are not as glamorous as they once were. I've seen runway models in shoots of recent shows who looked more like heavily medicated bag ladies.

If I lived fifty years earlier, I think I could have made a much better living as a model because of my size. Given that most top models today average around six foot tall, and I'm only five six, I have an unavoidable handicap I could never overcome. In the 1950s and 60s, however, before the anorexic age and the stork age that followed, the "ideal" model was just about my size and measurements.

The photograph below (enlargement) was taken in 1949 for Life magazine by the wonderfully named Nina Leen. She captured when cool was classic.

an underwhelming 2014 movie season

My Hollywood insider pal sent a package with twenty of his Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences "screeners," the pre-release DVDs of the big holiday-season movies the studios send to Oscar voters in hopes they'll snag a nod.

My friend is also a member of several guild unions, which also have their awards, so he often receives the same screener two or three times over, hence, his generosity.

So far, I have to say I've been underwhelmed by some of the "big" movies the studios are trotting out as Oscar bait this season. Foxcatcher, about the DuPont heir who flips out and kills an Olympic gold medal wrestler, has two great performances in an underwhelming and sometimes murky story. Gone Girl is a slick dud with unbelievable characters spouting too-witty-to-be-real dialog far too often.

Interstellar is showy and stunning in parts but wildly inconsistent with some surprisingly wooden acting in important moments. American Sniper is a rambling, episodic downer. Nightcrawler is a well done movie about scuzzy people who give you no reason to care about what happens to them.

The Judge had two fantastic performances in a sticky, gooey but badly dog-eared Hallmark card crammed with cloying cliches. Unbroken is intense and well done by director Angelina Jolie but as much fun as an all-expense-paid vacation to a gulag.

And The Grand Budapest Hotel is a honeyed, over-the-top exercise in self love. We gave that the ultimate thumbs down by stopping it half way. Life's too short to endure someone else's pretentious twaddle.

The only standout so far in the batch we've seen is Belle, an intriguing and gorgeous but not flawless period romance based loosely on a true story. Both my husband and I liked it.

Guaranteed, this is an incomplete analysis; we have not yet had time to watch some other movies he sent, like Still Alice, Boyhood, Inherent Vice, A Most Violent Year, Wild, and Mr. Turner. All look very promising. Some might well disappoint, but maybe some won't.

On the whole, I don't think this will be a memorable year for the Hollywood studios.

the linguini rug

I sometimes see home decor magazines with photo features of rooms that are incredibly impractical because they'd be impossible to clean. Rugs in particular seem to be selected for people who never live in their own homes.

Some have long animal fur carpeting while others have ridiculously thick shag piling. These are not rooms for anyone with children, pets, or elderly visitors. One spilled red wine and it's all over.

This is not a shot from a decorating magazine, but you'll get the idea. How the hell do you clean that rug? It would take all afternoon with a strong vacuum and a special comb.

The photo and related shots do not show enough of the room to determine if it's a set or a real home, but someone had to make that rug and presumably people buy for their own places. I suspect these are all people with very patient cleaning ladies and men.

Merry Christmas!

For everyone who celebrates the holiday, have a blessed and memorable day. This is also our sixth wedding anniversary.

Sometimes it seems like it was just a few months ago we were married. Other times, it seems like I have known my husband my entire life.

Six years ago, I worried a bit that I was rushing into things. Now, I realize it was the best decision I've ever made.

Hope Santa was good to you and brought you what you wanted!

a child at Christmas

I've always loved my son unconditionally, yet as he grows older, I honestly believe I love him more and more. I think that's because, as he ages, his personality grows in magnitudes. There's so much more "there" there as he becomes more expressive and communicative.

At one year old, the Christmas season pretty much completely went over his head last year. The only thing he seemed to really notice were the glittery lights and glittery things.

Now that he's two, he seems to grasp the basics and that fills him with wonderment. He's a generous child as it is, and seems very excited about the idea of giving gifts and seeing the recipients' reactions.

We bought his present for Daddy together and then wrapped it, and as soon as he next saw he saw my husband, Joey looked at me and asked "Daddy box?" He hasn't quite grasped the concept of wrapping gifts and then waiting to give them.

As for me, I can't wait to see how he reacts when he sees some of the presents he will receive. After he opens them, however, the biggest challenge might be how to convince him not to give them away to his cousins.

hooters and tits

It's no secret that some women loathe the Hooters restaurant chain. They believe the places demean and exploit women.

I came across this comment on an internet news item that represents that thinking, albeit in a funny way.

I never worked as a Hooters Girl, but I was a nude dancer for a total of about five years. If someone doesn't like Hooters, chances are that person believes nude dancing is demeaning and exploitational, too.

I have a much different perspective. I knew when I danced naked that men wanted me. They could look but they couldn't touch. They could fantasize but they could not actualize.

Rather than seeing this as them exploiting me, I always saw it as the other way around. I exploited them. I flirted and teased and showed them all the goods, but then I didn't put out, all the while they paid me excellent tips. I imagine a good many men who watched me dance earned less in a year than I did.

Some girls were aloof and cold toward the men at the places I worked, but I always went out of my way to be sweet and kind. I had a compliment for everyone. I consciously exploited them, because I knew if I was nice to a man while showing him my birthday suit, he would tip more.

I believe firmly in equality for women. But that doesn't mean we can't use our best assets to our own advantage.

his son wears dresses

I somehow landed on this article when I was looking for something else. It's a first person piece about a man who allows his two-year-old son to wear frilly dresses. You can click through to the link and read more..

In all honesty, my parenting alarm went off when I read this. At two, the boy is too young yet to really grasp the idea of gender. I suspect he wants to wear the dresses because they belong to his older sister.

The father started putting him in dresses because the kid pitched such a fit when he tried to put him in shorts and T-shirts. I have to wonder if this is a parent afraid of the word "no."

I also wonder at the wisdom of broadcasting the child's behavior to the entire world, complete with multiple photos. What if this embarrasses him later? Dad wants to be hip and allow the boy to make his own choices. Did the boy give him permission to publicize his attire and, if so, does he even understand the Internet? I highly doubt it.

Dad writes "I don't want him to ever feel like he wasn't able to express himself." That sounds nice on the surface, but is it wise to encourage a child to flaunt societal norms without him fully understanding any possible downside? What if he wants to change his mind later, but you've plastered his pictures on the internet, where they'll possibly last for decades?

If grown men want to wear dresses, that's their business. They should have the freedom to do so. But as a parent, I think you have a duty to protect your child from possible mockery before he understands why he's being mocked. When you add up the debits and credits with this idea, I think you need to err on the side of caution.

A child who doesn't yet fully understand gender does not understand why people laugh at males in dresses. As a parent, you have to learn how to say no at times. And a child has to learn that when a parent says no, the parent cannot be ignored or overruled, particularly when the child is two.

He wants to wear a dress now. What if he wants to drink scotch or smoke cigars at eight? Should he be allowed to "express" himself that way, too?

In closing, if you read the article, you might also find a male reader's comments to be very interesting.

human plumage

I note for the record that most of the people with a visible gender in this video are male. As the mother of a boy, I'm already imagining that, in about ten years, I will experience a new kind of stress and terror I've never had before when Joey takes greater and greater risks inherent to his sex. I see it in his older cousins. I see it in his own father and uncles.

Why do boys always want to do scary shit while girls mostly avoid such challenges? Because just as female birds are attracted to mates with flashy plumage, we female humans are attracted to dangerous men. I suspect that is why men take the risks they do -- they don't do it to impress us, but their DNA is hard-wired to do risky things to attract a mate.

hair-pulling frustration

Ugh. I spent I don't know how many hours on the phone on international calls back to the US yesterday trying to straighten out a problem caused by my brokerage company. Fortunately they accept international collect calls from overseas customers.

The problem was compounded by poor transmission problems somewhere from here and there which caused the call to disconnect suddenly several times. The satellite electronic echo was also quite bad on every call. And then to add insult to injury, the brokerage's computer system went down twice and had to be rebooted.

On the rare occasion I have to make calls like this, I need to get up extra early because of the time difference between Australia and the US. Considering how ubiquitous computers and internet access have become, you'd think the stock market could operate 24/7, which would certainly make things a lot easier.

In the end, the brokerage was extremely helpful and apologetic about the problem. I'm also fortunate that they're one of the few US financial institutions that have no problem with expat American customers, even small investors like me. So, in the end, notwithstanding the hours spent, all was well.

I miss ice skating

I saw a Christmas card yesterday that had people in an idyllic ice skating scene. That made me think about how long it's been since I last went skating. I haven't been to a rink since I lived in New York, so it's been close to ten years. I didn't skate when I lived in LA and Vegas.

I grew up in metro Chicago, so I learned to ice skate when I was very small. Needless to say, given the warmer climate here, Australia does not go in much for ice skating. There are only two public rinks in the entire Sydney area, and neither is close to us.

My husband has only been skating once in his entire life. Or, as he puts it, he only put on ice skates once in his life and then spent the next hour falling on his ass. Recruiting him to go skating has not been a successful endeavor.

If the rinks were closer, I would love to take my son when he gets a little older so he could learn to skate, too. I suspect it's one of those skills that, if you don't learn early, you'll never really learn.

The picture below is from 1937 by photographer John Albok, who documented many scenes of life in New York City from the 1930s to the 1980s. And, yes, the dude is ice skating while wearing a suit. True cool is timeless.

drug legalization

I read an internet political forum yesterday where some people advocated legalization all drugs. Pot, coke, heroin, meth, you name it could be bought, sold, possessed, and used without fear of criminal prosecution. Laws would still be on the books prohibiting driving while impaired and so on, but otherwise all drugs would be legal and consumable like booze.

Proponents of such plans advocate as much personal freedom as possible. If you want to fry your brains with drugs, they say, then that's your business.

This may sound good to some in theory, but I believe such ideas are naively optimistic. A society where all drugs are legal will be a society with a sizable portion of unproductive people wasted out of their mind for a good portion of their lives.

I've known people with meth addictions and have witnessed them systematically destroy their lives. How would allowing people to progressively broil their brains lead to a better, more productive society?

And what about prescription drugs? Should we be allowed to self-medicate, to pick and choose whatever sounds good, damn the consequences? What would be the cost to the medical infrastructure for a society where people shopped in a pharmacy like a supermarket?

My father-in-law, for instance, is on several heart medicines that require careful monitoring for dosage modification. What would happen if we left such decisions up to people uneducated in pharmacy science? What about drug conflicts?

Legalizing pot is one thing. All in all, IMHO it would be no more harmful to the individual and society than booze.

But legalizing coke or heroin or meth is something else entirely. While it might maximize liberty for those who want to abuse such drugs, it could result a pretty shitty society for the rest of us.

Just look at Somalia where half the population is wasted on khat or the Soviet Union where half the population was drunk on cheap vodka. Neither would be successful societies anyone would want to emulate.

This is not to say, of course, that better and more humane methods can't be used to help those with addiction problems. Dumping them in prisons is not a viable, long-term solution. It's just postponing a problem while it grows ever larger.

breaking bad's broken marriage

The husband and I have been watching Breaking Bad on DVD. Because we don't have any premium TV, we didn't see it when it was originally broadcast.

We're now up to early in the third season. If you've seen the show, you know that two married characters separate around this point. It's pretty abrupt -- she kicks him out and then, soon after, asks for a divorce.

He's very secretive about something he does away from the house and has income from a mysterious source. I think it's safe to say she is pretty sure he's not stepping out on her.

She ultimately figures out the secret to a certain degree and then he tells all. But she's already made up her mind before that and doesn't allow him to explain the reason he was engaged in the secret activity, which we know is really for her benefit.

The husband has also been seriously ill recently and may be again soon. In addition, they have a newborn baby.

They obviously have a problem in their marriage that he could not be totally honest with her from the get go, but in his defense he had a pretty valid reason. If you're familiar with the show, you know what it is. If you're not, I'm being vague so I don't give away any spoilers.

IMHO she's too hard on him. If he's not stepping out on you, you need to meet him somewhere halfway. You need to respect that he will tell you the secret with time. I know if he was my husband I wouldn't boot him out because of one secretive thing unrelated to infidelity

Every marriage is different, but there are certain commonalities, too. One is that communication is essential. But I don't believe, personally, that husband and wife must communicate on all channels about everything all the time in real time. I think each needs to bend over backwards to give the other the benefit of the doubt, particularly when one spouse has had a lot of other shit in his or her life.

In the fictional marriage, the husband has been very sick and facing what seemed to be certain and imminent death. She should have cut him some slack when the secret came toa boil. She gave up on him too easily, something I've seen spouses do in real marriages.

After all, the marriage vows say "for better, for worse." That means you don't head for the hills as soon as you see a few clouds on the horizon. Together, you tough out whatever blows in.

terrorist or deeply disturbed?

The hostage situation has ended here in Sydney. As I write this, most press outlets are reporting three people are dead, including the lone gunman.

Whatever the final count, the sole perpetrator sounds like a deeply disturbed individual. As one talking head commented today, he represented a case of "psychopathology in search of a cause."

Like many mentally ill individuals, he had a history of spouting a lot of religious nonsense and is a self-proclaimed cleric. He also had a history of repeated criminal charges on incidents that weren't politically motivated.

I've noticed that the more responsible media has refrained from referring to this situation as "a terrorist incident." I agree with them. A lone gunman and hostages does not terrorism make without other necessary factors. It's a crime, not terrorism.

Terrorism is a "sexy" word thrown around a lot by the more sensational media, and I think they do a disservice. They've made true terrorism sound commonplace by using the term so often and often inappropriately.

The 911 attacks were terrorism. A suicide bomber who kills and injures dozens is terrorism. Such incidents are politically motivated by a group of individuals intent on seeding discord and fear among innocent people.

But a lone loser with a gun is not a terrorist. He was a serious problem that went unaddressed until it was far too late.

hostages seized in Sydney

I sat down to write up a blog entry just as the news broke that hostages were seized in what may be a terrorist situation at a Martin Place cafe in downtown Sydney. Depending on the particular outlet, the media is reporting that anywhere between ten and forty people may be held prisoner.

By the time this posts, the situation may have changed and, hopefully, resolved peacefully with no injuries or loss of life. You can follow a news feed with the latest developments. I have to take Joey to an appointment here in the burbs in a little while, so I will leave extra early in case traffic is bad.

It goes without saying this incident is very disturbing. Australia is a peaceful country compared with the rest of the world so this is quite shocking. My husband and I have never been to the particular cafe in question, but we have both been to Martin Place many times.

It's stuff like this that makes one consider avoiding popular areas in any city. Acts of terrorism don't bring people to an understanding of "the other side," IMHO, but only make people more entrenched in their beliefs.

You don't change minds by threatening with a clenched fist.

I want to try this

Long ago I learned a feather can be a wonderfully erotic bedroom toy. But I never thought about a small paintbrush.

I suspect the trick is to use a very soft brush that's perhaps a quarter of an inch thick.

I think I'll make a stop at an art supply store soon and buy one of these as a gift for my husband. I know he'll enjoy putting it to good use.

This begs the question, of course, is whether I should give it a test drive in the store.

no means no versus yes means yes

A movement is afoot to change sexual consent standards from "no means no" to "yes means yes." At first glance, this may seem to be a mere quibble over semantics, but it's more than that.

In a world defined by "no means no," after a woman (or a man) says "no" when passions begins to heat up, that means the partner must stop. Say he kisses you and his hand then wanders into your blouse. You push away and say "no." That means he must stop that and trying to escalate into a sexual encounter.

As a woman, I fully support this idea. There must be consent, and if she (or he) says "no," then there is no deal. Stop.

With "yes means yes," that means both parties must specifically say "yes" before anything begins. IMHO that's just impractical. It might sound good in theory, but in practice it could be pretty ridiculous.

You're sitting on the couch, music plays softly on the stereo, moonlight filters in through the window, and you're staring into each other's eyes. He scoots a little closer.

Now, what, you're supposed to say, "yes, you can kiss me now"? And he says, "yes, I will do that"? The kiss breaks, and then she says "yes, you may put your hand in my blouse"? And he answers, "yes I'll do that now"?

I think this idea needs to go back to the drawing board.

porn protest pokes parliament

Demonstrators in London today plan a mass face-sitting and simulated sex protest against Britain's new draconian anti-porn law that prohibits certain consentual sex acts in porn. The new legislation appears designed to target mostly BDSM practices, particularly those pleasurable to women.

Viewers can still watch porn with the prohibited acts and videos featuring them can be imported but not produced in the UK.

"A man is allowed to put his penis in a woman�s mouth and choke her, but a woman is not allowed to ejaculate," noted one of the protest organizers. "How sexist is that?"

Another commented via Twitter: "A state which outlaws women's jizz and does little about rape needs a bloody good whipping."

At least 500 protestors are expected to sit on each other's faces and simulate sex acts outside of Parliament. Organizers are using the hashtag #pornprotest and hope the event will break the Guinness World Record for facesitting.

expensive scribbles

What is the image below? Something a hyperactive child scribbled on a chalkboard? Or was it done by a kid trying to form elongated ovals to learn cursive writing?

Or is it a $69.6 million painting that recently sold at Christie's auction house in New York?

If you guessed the last one, you guessed right. It was done in 1970 with house paint and wax crayon on canvas by artist Cy Twombly. It's one of his signature abstract works (more examples).

The work is visually interesting and would fill the wall in a reception area or large room, perhaps used in contrast with a piece of traditional antique furniture.

But at nearly $70 million, which is more than a Rembrandt would bring? I don't know about that. Maybe that makes me sound like a philistine, but if you planned to give me a painting and said pick a Twombly or a Rembrandt, I'd vote for the Dutch dude.

prince william doing porn?

I've seen this guy before, and while I know he's not really Prince William, I wonder if he was hired because of his resemblance. Or am I the only one who thinks he looks like the heir to the heir apparent?

Even if the lookalike factor was intentional, I imagine in porn the biggest "talent" a male must have is the ability to keep it up during a long shoot. Most people who look at porn are male, and most of them aren't looking at the guys laying pipe onscreen.

I saw a news item yesterday about how the real Prince William flew on a commercial jet from New York to Washington the other day. Well la de da. I've inherited enough of my husband's anti-royalist sentiments not to be impressed by a "royal" mingling with "commoners." He was born into an obscenely rich family of moochers, so other than that, he has no talents to make him newsworthy and noteworthy.

britain's desert

I discovered a fascinating website over the weekend, called "Unusual Places," which explores unusual, surreal, and little-known locales throughout the world in words and pictures. Some of the sites are so bizarre they look like they were created by Hollywood computer generated imagery.

I learned, for instance, that Britain has a desert in Kent. The pictures make it look like something in the American west.

I love websites like this because they offer a five-minute diversion when you're doing something else, like waiting for something in the oven or on endless phone hold..

the best week

I read a novel recently where a character paraphrased something the 18th century writer Samuel Johnson purportedly said: that there wasn't a week of his life he'd voluntarily live through again. The character then goes on to agree with this sentiment.

Now Dr. Johnson may have been brilliant, but I don't agree with him here. I can think of several different memorable weeks in my life that I would love to experience again. One was a particularly lovely week I spent with my grandfather. Another was the week immediately after I met my husband and still another was the first week after my son was born. The week we married makes a fourth.

Although such an experience is probably impossible, I do imagine that some highlights of a re-lived week might seem underwhelming in a second helping. By anticipating that might happen, the experience could still be exhilarating. I know at times in dreams I've experienced moments from memorable weeks and the sensation has always been wonderful.

Maybe the day will come, with some kind of miracle drug and virtual reality, that we could come close to reliving moments from our past. If given the chance, I would certainly want to try that.

highly recommended

I mentioned in a post the other day that I was reading Ian McEwan's newest novel The Children Act. I ended up reading it three times back-to-back because it's rather short and I enjoyed studying it in detail.

Although McEwan is one of my all-time favorite writers and this is one of his better books, I didn't give it my highest recommendation because I thought it could have been somewhat longer and devoted that time to exploring the central characters with some more detail and depth.

While very, very good, I don't think it's quite at the highest level of his Atonement and On Chesil Beach. Personally, Atonement is one of my favorite all-time books.

Like many of McEwan's more recent novels, The Children Act is heartbreaking. It's not an upbeat book, but it's so well written, so subtle, that you cannot help but enjoy his mastery.

lucky people

I have to admit some of these bits made me laugh, even though I realize the people were very nearly killed. The lady with the shopping who is almost mowed down in the street is a particular favorite. She didn't seem much fazed that she almost drew her final breath.

I suspect the one in the gas station pissed his pants right before the camera went to black. His hands are the clue. My husband always fills up at pumps away from the street because he once saw a car skid out of control and right into people filling up. Fortunately no one was killed but some people were pretty badly injured.

The post title notwithstanding, I don't really believe in luck. Our lives are filled with random moments and events. It's the reason one person is hit by a truck while another is a near-miss. Luck (or unluck) of the draw.

My husband, however, disagrees. He is a hopeless romantic. He believes we were destined to meet. As much as I love him, I know it was just a happy accident.

the giving child

When I'm out and about with Joey, he sometimes takes it upon himself to present perfect strangers with things he thinks they should have. Yesterday in the supermarket he removed a pasta package from a shelf beside which I had the cart parked and just handed it to a woman going down the aisle.

He has a deadly serious look on his face when he does this, like he senses the person really needs what he's giving them. He's done the same thing in a variety store and more than once at the library.

At home, he will do this with his toys when we have visitors. He'll pick out a toy, seemingly at random, and then just hand it to the guest. If they start to play with it as if to amuse him, he looks at them like they're deranged and then goes back to amusing himself with the rest of the toys.

One day I found a teaspoon in my purse and another time several clothes pins. I know I didn't put them there but I suspect he did.

Perhaps he has a future working on a game show. Show her what's she's won, Joey!

too much bush?

I know some guys are really turned on by a girl with a natural, hairy snatch, but are more turned off by it? The girl below is about as bushy as they come.

You can tell by examining the whole photo series that she grooms a bit but not much. To each his or her own, I guess, but if I were her, I would do some serious trimming on that lawn. I wouldn't want to scare off a guy from muff diving.

the clitoris police strike again

Almost as if avoiding any publicity, lawmakers in the UK yesterday banned a long list of consensual acts that will no longer be allowed in British porn, including spanking, facesitting, and golden showers. Also, verbal abuse and female ejaculation, in the words of a Monty Python skit, "are right out."

As has been noted, the total list of banned acts seems more concerned about things that pleasure women as opposed to those pleasuring men. Certain acts, including facesitting, are singled out for harsher punishment.

And in a particular stroke of idiocy, purchasing and/or viewing such acts in porn is not prohibited, just production within the UK of films depicting them. Apparently lawmakers in London are more worried about jobs lost in other countries but not their own. If they want to see the impact on their own country's adult industry, they only need review how porn production cratered in LA County when condoms were required there by law.

What possible harm to society could result by making a porn video in Leeds or Winchester where a woman is spanked and then sits on the man's face? Rioting in the streets? Mass starvation? A plague of locusts?

Some politicians in London need a good spanking. But not on film, of course.

the law vs. common sense

After an initial read, I'm currently back-to-back re-reading Ian McEwan's excellent new novel The Children Act. He is one of my favorite writers, and I often read his books twice through this way the first time I encounter them.

The story is about a family court judge in London facing a crisis in her marriage. She also has several important cases on her docket that cause her considerable anxiety.

One case involves a pair of newborn Siamese twin boys. The healthier baby could survive and thrive on his own were he separated from his brother, who is seriously underdeveloped and has no chance of surviving.

If the children are not separated, both will die within a few weeks. If they are separated, one will die and the other stands a very good chance of living a healthy, normal life.

The twins' parents are deeply religious and won't give permission to separate the twins, thereby dooming them to certain death. The hospital and medical staff bring a court action so they may ignore the parents and separate the children to save the one.

British law, as expressed in the book, could go either way on the matter. For me, however, it's a no-brainer. Common sense should prevail. You save the one twin and let the other go. Surgery must be performed. This is basic Solomon's wisdom.

Notwithstanding that I'm a parent, I also believe that parents do not own children. They are not possessions. I do not believe a child's health and welfare should ever be subordinated to a parent's "rights." As a parent, I am my child's guardian, not his owner.

If you can't let one child go in order to save the other, then you're not fit to be a parent IMHO. A child's life should never be sacrificed in the name of "parental rights" or on the whim of a parent's religion.

medicating your panda

A short video sequence posted online purports to be of a man trying to medicate a juvenile panda. As you can see from the click-through, this does not appear to be a successful way to do it.

I have to wonder why he is doing this in what appears to be a very difficult way. Why didn't he separate the animals so one would not pester him when he's trying to work on the other one? Why not remove the panda from its pen and put it in some kind of veterinary restraint?

Whatever the answers, the pandas nonetheless are impossibly cute.

heaven on earth

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PD James

The great PD James died on Thursday. If you're a reader and you don't know her work, you're missing out on a real treat. Unlike many crime writers who crank 'em out bimonthly, she focused on quality and not quantity, publishing only nineteen books in a career spanning more than fifty years.

Unlike many genre writers, she focused on more than just plot. Her characters were rich and with great depth and also flawed. The settings and world she chose also were interesting. More than anything, her beautiful, spare prose really brought the books to life.

My two favorite books of hers -- Death Comes to Pemberley and, particularly, Children of Men -- were both genre busters and distinctly different than her other work. If you've not read any of her books, you might start with these two are neither are part of a series. A familiarity with Pride and Prejudice is not necessary to appreciate Pemberley, I don't think, but if you do it will make it all the richer for you.

deliberate?

I have to hope that this glaring mistake was obvious. But most people will not assume as much and think you're an idiot.

I wondered if this was some band name or song title of which I was unfamiliar, so I Googled the exact spelling. I only found a handful of middle school kids' Facebook or Instagram
pages with the spelling, and those people all seemed to be into cutesy misspellings and FuNNi KapiTaLiZations.

Whatever the answer, you'll look like a moron when you're no longer young and still have this visible on your shoulder. Not to say you don't look like one already.

happy thanksgiving!

Sending along warm holiday wishes to everyone who lives "back home." It's just an ordinary day here in Australia, but we will be joining in an expat celebration this Saturday. I'll be making pumpkin pie, using squash as a substitute.

The weather, of course, is late spring-like, so no harvest snap of frost or snow in the air. My cousins and uncle in Pennsylvania sent an email last night that they are due to have a white Thanksgiving. My brother in the Midwest has already seen snow.

Don't eat too much. But if you do, remember those "after dinner" exercises like we see demonstrated here to burn off some of those extra calories...

never too old

The picture below needs no explanation. It was posted on Reddit under the title "President Clinton didn't realize my friend was taking a selfie with him."

Or maybe he knew and just didn't care. Why look at a stupid camera when there's a much better view? The original thread on Reddit has some very amusing comments.

When I used to dance for a living, the older gents were always the most polite, the most attentive, and the best tippers. Some of them were just so incredibly sweet. If I was mercenary like Anna Nicole Smith, I could've probably landed myself a rich one.

asked and answered

My husband has an aunt who has the curious and sometimes annoying habit of asking variations on the same question when you're unable to answer the first time. He told me that she's been this way as long as he can remember.

We saw her over the weekend and she asked me how her grandson could get a long-term visa for the United States. I told her I knew nothing about American visas and that he would have to contact the Sydney consulate or to try their webpage.

She then peppered me with a whole series of questions that were a variation of the first one: was it easier to get a work or student visa? How long did visas last? How long did it take to get a visa? Why could someone be turned down? I answered the same thing each time; I had no idea and to contact the embassy.

As the questions proceeded, they became more and more specific about visas, defying simple logic. If I knew nothing about the basics, how could I answer specifics? I did not lose patience with her, but when another relative finally did and interceded, she stopped asking.

I was trying to figure out later why she does this. She seems to be both obsessive and passive aggressive and has possibly done this for so long out of habit that she no longer understands why.

Other conversations with her in the past made me wonder if she's had some kind of undiagnosed emotional issue for a very long time. She could probably benefit from some therapy, but she's of the generation who think that anyone who consults a shrink must be insane and ready for institutionalization.

Because I'm the child of two shrinks and the sibling of another, I think sometimes I focus on emotional issues in others. There are so many people who seem to need a bit of therapy but it will never come to pass. That's sad, because it would make many of them so much happier.

if women catcalled men

For a true scientific test, I think this video would be more interesting if the men were unaware passersby and not actors. I'd also like to know if the unaware men would react differently if the women's comments were more sexual, like the "bulge" and "carpet" comments.

I will admit to catcalling men when I was a single woman and still living in the United States. If I was driving and saw a cute guy out running, particularly if he was shirtless and/or well built, I would wolf whistle out the window at him. Most men laughed and/or waved but a few completely ignored me. I guess they were deaf or gay.

are movies now the vast wasteland?

In past decades, television was described as "the vast wasteland," occupied primarily by second-rate or washed up actors and filmmakers recycling old plots and cardboard characters into mindless, formulaic brain candy.

In the last ten years or so, however, TV seems like the place to find material that really challenges your mind with some exceptional shows, while film has become the primary ground for special effects extravaganzas populated by somewhat shallow characters in familiar stories. Fortunately, there are some notable exceptions with independent films.

I was looking at a list of new and returning TV shows for early 2015. Some really looked appealing. In contrast, the list of new films coming in early 2015 didn't instill much excitement.

It seems almost that Hollywood has put too much stock in the "wow" factor of movies with special effects and computer generated imagery and forgot somewhere along the way that memorable characters in great stories was a requirement, too.

Theaters are equipped with projection and sound systems much better than the average home, so the more the movie is a visual and sound thrill ride, the greater the "roller coaster value." So the decision to finance a movie now seems to revolve around making it a sound and sights "event" as opposed to a strong story with great characters.

In contrast, TV can't compete with thrills and effects, but it has the time advantage, with an audience willing to invest an hour or two every week with stories and characters developed in much greater detail. Over the course of a whole season, a much more complex and layered story can be told, almost like a novel.

So if you want amusement park thrills, head to a theater. If you want rich characters and complex stories, stay home and watch the tube. I would imagine this difference will become more pronounced with time.

a single woman vs. married sex

I came across something I wrote in my journal nearly ten years ago: "Married sex must be so boring. The same guy all the time. No variety. No thanks."

Now, roughly a decade later, I feel the opposite. There is a safeness in sameness. Sex is no longer a gamble. A one-night stand might look good in the showroom and a lot of fun to have dinner with, but I know from experience he can crash and burn on the runway.

How many times did I go to bed with a man expecting fireworks, instead landing a dud who shot his wad in four minutes and then fell asleep. Men like that should save themselves the time and expense of dating women and just masturbate instead.

Married sex, in contrast, means no unpleasant surprises. When he takes me to bed, I'm confident he'll know exactly the right way to ring my chimes. It's like ordering mint chocolate chip ice cream and knowing that you'll get what you wanted, the really minty, creamy kind with lots of big chips, not the cheap kind with no taste and chips like floor sweepings.

Unmarried sex could be thrilling, but it could be terribly disappointing, too, and usually the latter kind. It was sex without a guarantee. Married sex, in contrast, comes with a lifetime warranty.

I don't know why I didn't realize this when I was unmarried and playing the field. I guess because when I found a man who pleased me in bed, he had all sorts of problems outside the bedroom. Finding a man who isn't fucked up but can fuck well was not easy. Once I fell crazy in love with him, the rest was history.

the worst things for sale

I found a great new clickbait website featuring the absolutely stupidest things that people are trying to peddle online. This is a great diversion site if you're waiting on hold on the phone or for the dryer or oven to finish. Some of the garbage is available for sale on Amazon, which is becoming an amazing emporium of the tackiest junk, second only to eBay.

A few favorites I found include a temporary pocket to stick to your clothes like a Post-it note, a book about how to fuck in a tent, a personalized Nicolas Cage pillow, and a device to give yourself the Heimlich maneuver if you're choking while alone.

Then, of course, there's the gem illustrated below. I love the pitch that it's a "fun activity for the entire family." I can think of some relatives I wouldn't want painting my vulnerable belly the next time I'm pregnant.

how (not) to kill your spouse

A 67-year-old Japanese woman has been arrested on suspicion of murdering her husband a month after they wed. An autopsy discovered lethal quantities of cyanide in his blood.

He is the sixth of her spouses/boyfriends to have died shortly after becoming involved with her. More than one were found to have cyanide in their blood after death. She has also collected nearly $7 million in inheritances and insurance payouts for the six dead men. She claims she's innocent and has no idea how to kill someone.

Now what are the statistical odds that six of your partners suffer sudden and untimely deaths shortly after meeting you, each leaving you richer, yet you're somehow not involved?

So-called black widow killers are rare but do happen on occasion. The Japanese media had a field day about one convicted in 2012. Men, too, can be serial killers of their own spouses. Drew Peterson comes to mind.

Two things strike me about these cases. First, why does it seem to take authorities a long time to figure out all is not right? In this new case first mentioned above, a previous husband died and was found to have cyanide in his blood. Didn't law enforcement look into her odd history? Five dead men is not suspicious but six is?

And second is the fact that black widow killers think they can get away with it. A clever person probably could plan and pull off a single murder and escape prosecution. But twice is really pushing it. Anything after that is sheer insanity.

I have to imagine a certain amount of narcissism is involved with these killers. They think they're so clever and smart they couldn't possibly be caught.

I have a moron's name

My first name is not uncommon and my married name is very common, so the two of them added together are certainly not unique. I have to imagine there are hundreds if not thousands of women with my same name in the English-speaking world.

Nonetheless, when I married, I discovered no one had signed up for an account on a popular free email service with the account name of my first name plus my married name. So I snagged it.

I use it infrequently but it's forwarded to the account I use most often, so I see everything that comes in. I also discovered about six months ago someone with the same name began using my email address as her own. It's not a spamming situation; she's buying stuff and then giving my email address as hers.

She also has a credit card notification going to the email account. She spends a shitload of money every month and doesn't pay down the balance very much, but the notification provides no further details other than payments received and new billings.

I have her address and telephone number in the United States. I could call her or write her, but frankly I don't want to waste the money on an international call or letter. Best to let sleeping dogs lie and all that.

I have to wonder how bright she is to be consistently using my email address repeatedly. She does this all the time and apparently has never figured it out. I have no way of contacting her because I don't know her correct email address.

I hope the woman doesn't have an important job upon which lives may depend. But if so, heaven help them.

hollywood extortion

We don't subscribe to any premium TV services, nor do we watch much broadcast programming, so we mostly view DVDs. Some are screeners from my movieland source, but most either come from extensive selections at the library or an independent DVD rental place near us.

Many have previews at the beginning. I often watch these for programming ideas, but if I've already seen the show, movie, or trailer I'll just skip through it with the chapter change button.

About ten percent of the time, however, the chapter change feature won't work to skip through them. Nor will the menu selection feature work or fast forward. We have two different DVD players, each with multi-region functioning, and this happens on both. As a result, there's no choice but to sit through the damn trailers whether you want to see them or not, an apparently compulsory feature from the DVD distributor.

You must watch this trailer, comrade. Talk about an incentive not to see the movies or shows they're advertising.

I have found a workaround, however. I put the DVD we plan to watch in the viewer earlier in the day, then I just let the trailers play with no one watching. When that's done and the menu finally (!) appears, I select the actual program and then bookmark it with the DVD player when it's a second or two into running. When I turn it back on later so we can watch, it goes straight to the bookmark and no pesky trailers.

comet chaser

I occasionally poke around tattoo forums online because sometimes I find links to incredibly bad tattoos to add to my digital collection. As a result, I've seen the photo below posted several times now in general discussion areas.

The subject is Matt Taylor, who has a PhD in space physics and led the team that successfully lead the Rosetta comet mission last week. The forum chatter postulates that he's some kind of proof that a heavily tattooed man can have a great job. "Look at those tattoos!" one comment says sarcastically. "He'll never get a real job!"

Wrapped up in this is the danger of a big logic fail. Finding one example of a heavily tattooed man with a great job does not mean that highly visible tattoos won't hamper an "ordinary" person's job search.

You can see, for instance, he has no tattoos on his face nor any exotic piercings. Put him in a long-sleeved shirt and a nice suit and he looks like a professional. He also has a PhD in a rare, high demand field and professional credentials out the wazoo, including dozens of published scientific papers. He's in great demand for his brain, credentials, and experience, so an employer has no choice except to overlook the ink. (According to press reports, he has been ordered to cover his arms during certain media events.)

Contrast that with a recent high school graduate whose only experience is working seasonal retail in a big box store. People with so called "McJobs" at big box stores are usually easily replaced. So if you show up at a job interview with sleeve tattoos or something more exotic, you're not going to be welcomed like someone with a PhD in physics.

And an aside to close: landing a big doodad on a comet has to be about one of the coolest things ever!

happy versus unhappy people

A realization struck me yesterday about the various people I've known well in my life. I don't know how universal it is, but it seems nearly so for people I've known.

Unhappy people always seem quick to blame others for their problems. Things wrong in their life are not because of something they did wrong or some flaw. It's because someone screwed them over or did them in or cheated them in some way. They're always casting around for blame. Whenever they find a target, that person or persons are thus responsible for whatever makes them unhappy. Or so they think.

In contrast, happy people realize problems in their life are because they screwed up somehow or just because accidents sometimes happen. They don't always try to hitch their problems to someone else. By refusing to do so, the problems usually don't seem so life consuming. They screwed up and vow to learn from their past mistakes. Live and learn.

Unhappy people cannot say "I was wrong" or "I fucked up." Happy people can.

Of course, this is a generalization and only applies to the people I have known wll, but I wouldn't be surprised if it isn't a pattern repeated rather regularly.

this makes me angry

My grandfather was born in 1922 and died of a rare form of cancer in 2007. He was, as he described himself, "a country doctor." I was very close to him and spent most summers staying with him and my grandmother on their farm, starting when I was about seven.

Like many people of his era, he smoked starting when he was in his late teens. He tried to quit a number of times in the 1960s and 1970s and finally was successful sometime when he was in his fifties, before I was born.

I always remember him as a healthy, robust, and fit older man. He looked and acted like he was sixty when in fact he was in his eighties. He practiced medicine until shortly before he died and, because most of his patients were his age or older, he still made regularly house calls.

About four months before he died, he suddenly felt very poorly. Although he was a doctor, he couldn't tell what the problem was and ordered some blood tests for himself. The results showed something was very wrong.

He consulted a variety of specialists as he rapidly felt worse. Within a week of first feeling sick, he was diagnosed with cancer. He had a rapidly progressing form that was likely caused by smoking for nearly forty years.

He was very stoic about his diagnosis. I visited him every few weeks during the last four months of his life. With each trip, his downward spiral was ever more apparent. He was lucid and rational until the day he died, notwithstanding the severe pain.

During his illness, in the process of one of our long talks, he said that he had started to read in medical journals as early as the 1940s that smoking was bad for health and could possibly cause cancer. As time passed, the warnings become more prolific and dire.

Like many doctors who were smokers, he was hooked so he continued to smoke. Finally, when the evidence was utterly overwhelming, he quit for the last time.

The advertisement pictured below is from 1952. It very specifically infers that smoking is healthy, what with the prominent (and fake) "doctor" and mentions of health benefits. By then, as their own internal research showed, tobacco companies knew their weed was not only unhealthy but also harmful. Yet they continued their deceptive advertising.

This excellent visual archive at Stanford School of Medicine documents various forms of dishonest subliminal advertising tricks that tobacco companies used to promote the idea that smoking was good for you when they knew it was the opposite. Yet they continued to advertise and do their best to hide the ugly truth.

My grandfather knew better because he was a doctor, at least during the last two decades or so that he smoked. But many people didn't have the benefit of his training and probably believed the ads they saw. After all, if it wasn't true, they couldn't say it, could they?

My grandfather was 85 when he died. Had he not smoked, he may have lived much longer, past 100 as his mother did and his father nearly did. But his life was probably cut short. He was lucky, however. Some smokers die as early as their forties or fifties because of their habit.

I wonder if there are any tobacco executives still alive who were responsible for this shameful deceptive advertising of past eras. And I wonder how they feel today about what they did.

women who hire male escorts

Aeon magazine has a new article up about women who hire male escorts. The article is written more from the female perspective and focuses coincidentally on male escorts in eastern Australia, where prostitution is legal and regulated.

The piece is interesting in part because it examines how male escorts are perceived differently than female escorts as well has what is required of male sex workers in contrast to the female variety.

My husband was a male escort part-time toward the end of his navy career. He was mostly port based then and initially was recruited for a female madame by a fellow sailor who was also in the trade. James decided to give it a whirl both because he could use the money and he also thought it was a great way to have sex without the hassle of picking up women. Like the clients described in the article, most of his were wealthy and successful women not involved in relationships for a variety of reasons.

As is often the case with life, what he imagined it would be like was different than the reality he would come to know. He rather quickly found it was not as easy as he thought it would be; the clients expected to be supremely pampered and he really had to deliver sexually.

For this, I am thankful. Partly because of what he credits to his escorting experience, he is a master at pleasing a woman. I can attest to that. His tongue could be a lethal weapon. One of the escorts in the article is married and his wife has no problem with what he does. I suspect part of the reason may be because he can ring her chimes like few other men could.

James ultimately left escorting because of his extended trip to the United States, but he also said he found the work pretty boring after a while. Other than the sexual release the job offered, he didn't like spending time with women he found to be rather shallow and self-absorbed.

awakening my inner lesbian

I think of myself as pretty solidly heterosexual. On the Kinsey Heterosexual–Homosexual Rating Scale, which rates from zero for exclusively heterosexual to six for exclusively homosexual, I would probably rate myself as a one, defined as "predominantly heterosexual, only incidentally homosexual."

Other than the two girl-on-girl porn scenes I did when I desperately needed money, I have never had a lesbian sexual experience. I've been hit on by women but always turned them down.

However, I've always had ménage à trois fantasies: two men with me or another woman, a man, and me. Now that I'm married, I'm less inclined to the two-men variety, although with some exceptions. I could definitely go for Daniel Craig, my husband, and me. (The men, of course, would be strictly hetero in any situation.)

I still would love to do a threeway with my husband and another woman, but he's never gone past the starting gate on that one. That would still be a primarily heterosexual encounter in my mind, but I could see a woman and I doing some things with each other to tease and turn on James. And I would like to watch him fucking her, although he thinks that's very strange.

On occasion I see a woman who, for some reason, makes my motor purr. This woman made my inner lesbian come out of her coma. I could really get into her I think, particularly if I was the dominant one. I showed her picture to James and he was just sort of "meh."

Well, there's always a fantasy version of her available.

windy city madness

The picture shows two acrobats performing on a tiny platform and without a net high above a Chicago street in the 1950s. If you've ever been there, you know it can get quite gusty, hence its nickname "The Windy City." (Right click to see a larger image.)

I grew up in metro Chicago and I remember once it was so windy that a strong gust knocked me flat on my back. I was in middle school at the time, so while I wasn't yet adult-sized, I wasn't a tiny child, either. The wind sometimes can also be quite sudden and go from nonexistent to quite gusty inside of five minutes.

So that would make the two acrobats here doubly insane: (a) for trying this in the first place and (b) trying it in Chicago. I'm guessing they're about 300 to 400 feet above the street, which I calculated by counting the stories in the building closest to them.

This pair apparently did a whole routine up there with gymnastic routines, handstands, and rope skipping. I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about this.

the importance of premarital sex

I saw a copy of Ian McEwan's 2007 novella On Chesil Beach on the reshelving rack when I was last in the library, so I grabbed it. I've read the book twice before, but it's a short book that I loved so much so I wanted to read it again.

It's a very simple story, set in the early 1960s. A young man and a young woman are passionately in love and they marry. They are both virgins on their wedding night, which turns out to be an unmitigated disaster.

Like many brides of her era who were pretty clueless about sex, the central female character is probably frigid and also repulsed by the idea of sex. For his part, like many young men of his time, the central male character has thought about sex constantly since he went through puberty, masturbates habitually, and is so easily aroused that he suffers from premature ejaculation.

Both are thus terrified in the honeymoon suite. As a result, these two people are on a disastrous collision course they don't realize is happening until it's too late. I love the book because of the honest emotions and beautiful prose, but its cautionary tale is very important, too.

I think telling a young person to wait until marriage for sex is perhaps the worst possible piece of advice one could possibly give. Being miserly with sex advice for a child is also a horrible policy, too.

When my son is old enough, I sincerely hope he loses his virginity before he gets married. I know my husband feels the same way. And we'll let our feelings be known, too. If we have any more children, the same goes for them.

First sex is fraught with all sorts of possible complications. A newly married couple waiting until their wedding night to discover if they're sexually compatible is nothing short of madness.

downfall

The husband and I watched the extended cut of Downfall over the last two nights. If you're not familiar with the film, which came out about ten years ago, it chronicles Adolph Hitler's last ten days, told through one of his secretaries' perspectives. Much of the movie is set inside his underground bunker fortress.

Neither of us had seen it before, possibly because it's a long movie, clocking in at three hours. We both found it at once depressing and fascinating. The performances as a whole are outstanding, particularly Alexandra Lara as the secretary and Bruno Ganz as Hitler.

I was struck by two thoughts after seeing the film. First was the utter cheapness with which Nazis viewed their own lives. I already knew, of course, they thought that way about the people they persecuted and murdered, but I never realized they thought that way about themselves, too. Everyone was expendable, including themselves, in pursuit of the Fatherland.

The second thought was how political movements can reach a point where they become like religious cults. I never thought of them quite that way before, but the movie really makes clear how the most devoted Nazis were like mindless cult zombies. Other than specific beliefs, the Nazis seemed very much like cultists at the Peoples Temple or Heaven's Gate.

I definitely want to see Alexandra Lara in other roles now, too. She's absolutely stunning.

crack for toddlers

We couldn't take Joey to the park for the last two weeks because he was recovering from his operation. He was pretty active from the day after surgery forward, but we weren't supposed to allow him to do anything too strenuous like climbing.

The park has swings, slides, and jungle gyms, all which are crack for him. He fearlessly climbs on slides and jungle gyms while I see kids twice his age who don't even attempt it. But jungle gym and slide was no-go for two weeks.

We had to drive on special routes so we wouldn't pass the park, which is very near to the house. If he doesn't see the park, he doesn't get it in his mind to stop, but if we pass it by and he hasn't had his fix in a day or two, he makes a face that would send Charles Dickens rushing for his pen.

So yesterday was his first day back at the park and he was ecstatic. Ninety minutes of slide slide slide jungle gym jungle gym jungle gym slide slide slide etc. did not wear him out.

Perhaps he has a future as a gymnast.

the ministry of silly walks

If you design silly walks and marches for your troops, these things are bound to happen. And if you throw around armaments like boomerangs, then don't fuss if things don't all work out.

I could never understand how throwing rifles up in the air was meant to illustrate some kind of military might. It's all about hitting a target. How fancy you can toss it around matters not an ounce.

The same goes for ridiculous marches. What's the strategic military advantage of goosestepping with your feet higher than your waist?

sleeping naked is better

I happened on this news story reporting about a survey concluding that couples who sleep naked are happier than those in sleepwear. The reason is simple: skin-on-skin promotes closeness and intimacy. The happiness rate also declined the more someone wore to bed.

The study didn't delineate between naked and nearly naked. What if you wear underpants but nothing else, like my husband and I? With a child in the house now, we decided total nude sleeping was not the best thing.

And what about people who sleep naked in warmer months but not when it's coldest? On really chilly winter nights, we have on more than underpants. It's either leaving the heat on all night or bundle up.

I'd argue that coldness encourages closeness and intimate cuddling. And who doesn't like that?

hating microsoft

I spent four very frustrating hours yesterday trying to get my laptop to work again.

I was doing some financial stuff online when, all of a sudden, Windows starting acting very wonky -- freezing certain screens, refusing to close others, and taking endless time to load the file directory page.

I decided to shut down and restart, which almost always solves software problems.

Big mistake.

When I turned the machine back on, it started loading Windows update files. That made no sense. Windows hadn't sent any updates in several weeks, and the machine had been powered up and down several times since then.

After the screen showed the progress of the updates hit about 30 percent, it switched to a screen I never saw before, with the ominous wording:

Failure configuring Windows updates.

And then it just sat there, displaying that same screen, doing nothing more, stuck in some kind of endless software loop. I rebooted several times but always ended up with this same frustrating loop result.

I went on the desktop, searched "Failure configuring Windows updates" online, and learned I was not alone. Many, many, many people have had this same problem.

It's caused by a bug in Windows' own updates. Yes, thank you for your glorious fuck-up, Microsoft. Thank you for never informing me, a legitimate Windows owner, that you released a badly flawed update that was waiting to die an inconvenient death.

To add insult to injury, the "fix" on the Windows webpage made utterly no sense. The fix did not fix. It was for shit.

I surfed around and found some other alleged solutions on software forum pages. None of those worked, either.

Somehow, by trial and error, on my own, I managed to fix the problem. I was finally able to circumvent the "Failure configuring Windows updates" screen and do a restore point.

Problem solved.

Microsoft, you owe me four hours of my life back.