a shaggy dog story

The animal lover in me wants to believe this story: the funeral for an elderly woman who fed stray dogs for many years was spontaneously joined by homeless canines wandering in off the street to lie at her coffin, notwithstanding the services were hundreds of miles away from where she gave away food.

That is so touchingly sweet that the cynic in me is having a hard time believing it's true. Yes, I know dogs sense things about people that we don't understand. But still, this stretches credulity.

I think there may be a perfectly innocent explanation as to why this happened. Perhaps some tender-hearted relative put dog food in the woman's coffin as a little remembrance of what she did.

But still, even though I can't quite believe it, I want to. It's a sweet story. And we should always try to help out stray dogs when we can, either by feeding them or finding them homes.

mothers who kill

I have been reading about the woman in the US under investigation for the brutal murder of two of her children whose bodies were found in her freezer. Her two other living children, both still minors, may have witnessed some or all of this, according to police.

The news has emerged that some of her relatives had suspicions the mother was abusing her children, including one who was a former police officer who investigated child abuse. Because the dead children were allegedly home schooled, their disappearance never raised any red flags with educators.

While cases of parents killing children are quite uncommon, they're not unheard of, either. The system almost seems designed to allow grossly abused children to fall through the cracks.

Although parental rights are important, they should never be absolute nor trump a child's safety. I say this as a parent. I think when children are said to be home schooled, those parents should be required to bring the children to an established school on a regular basis, say once a quarter, so that a professional may gauge their progress.

If a child is being mistreated or not adequately educated, remedial steps can be taken. Home school is all well and good for many children, but it should never be used as a cover for parents abusing the system or their kids.

The parents' needs and wants must be subordinated to the child's when the latter is not being taught or is being abused in some manner. Yes, some children could still be overlooked with this sort of monitoring, but I think it would help some of them.

Most children are lucky to have good parents, but not all do. I think society owes a debt to the children who are abused or neglected and should make a better effort to help them.

Yes, that may cost more tax money, but it's an investment in the future. Today's neglected or abused child will cost society more in the future in many ways. And children should never be subordinated to penny-pinching.

straight men who kiss straight men?

I stumbled on a recent article reporting that 89 percent of straight college-aged British males had kissed a man on the lips. In the United States, a mere 10 percent had done so.

I asked my Australian husband whether he had ever kissed a man on the lips. "I was never that drunk," he responded.

If straight men want to do this, well that's fine, but it seems odd to me. I don't want to see my husband doing this. I don't think I'm homophobic in any way, but I think there are just some things men shouldn't try to do, like kiss other men, use tampons, or lactate.

I don't think it's sexist to expect a man to be masculine and a woman to be feminine. There are some things only men do. The same is said for women. I certainly don't think male kissing should be prohibited, but I wouldn't find it sexy and appealing if I saw my man kissing other men.

For what it's worth, I rarely kiss another woman on the mouth. I only kiss friends at the beginning or end of an event or encounter, whether they be male or female, but always on the cheek. I hug a lot, though. I'm real big on hugging.

I regularly kiss my son on his cheek and forehead and nose and finger. But mouth kissing my son just seems a little too Oedipal.

I kiss my husband all the time on the mouth. He's my special person so he has near exclusive kissing rights to my lips.

If you want your husband or boyfriend kissing other men, I'm cool with that. As long as he doesn't try to kiss mine.

martha's marvelous malaria

Our local public library has a big bin in the lobby with free books and magazines for any patron who wants them. These are either older items the library has thinned from their collection or public donations they don't want.

I almost always check the bin because I can't pass up something that's free. Most of the books are of no interest to me, but I do find interesting gems on occasion.

On my last trip, I saw a children's book with the title Melanie's Marvelous Measles. Kids books are uncommon in the bin, so I snagged it and brought it home for Joey without a lot of thought at the time.

I imagined it was something about a little girl who thought she had measles when she didn't. Once I looked at it, I realized the book was a self-published anti-vaccination manifesto.

So I did some quick research on the web. I learned the book in question is quite controversial and has been pulled from sale in various places because it peddles the fiction that contracting measles is a good idea for a child. I have no time nor tolerance for anti-vaccination dolts, so I tore the book up and tossed the remains in the recycle bin here at home.

Science isn't a faith nor a belief. It's real. We know water boils at 100 (aka 212) because of science. We know what time the sun will come up tomorrow because of science. We know what will happen when you mix vinegar and baking soda because of science. I could go on.

Anti-vaccination myths are based on crackpot theories and fraudulent studies. They're not based on science. They're flat-earth gibberish. If you don't have your child vaccinated, you're putting him or her at risk. A serious risk. It's far more likely your child will die of a preventable disease than a highly rare side-effect caused by a vaccination.

My mother had a sister who died of measles when she was a child. That happens with measles. Out of every thousand children who contract measles in first world countries, three will die. The numbers are much higher in poorer countries. And that's no "theory" or "belief." Those are cold hard scientific facts.

So what's next from the anti-science nutters? Martha's Marvelous Malaria? Debbie's Delightful Diphtheria? Tina's Terrific Typhus?

suicide intervention

I was reading an article online about suicide intervention a few hours before the news broke about how the recent air disaster in France was likely caused by a suicidal co-pilot who deliberately crashed the plane, killing 150 people.

The linked article raises the question about whether one has an obligation to intervene if you have reason to believe someone may attempt suicide. In my opinion, the answer is a qualified yes. You have to try to do something, to get help for the person, to alert the necessary authorities, or to do something similar to stop the person from killing him or herself.

While almost all people who commit suicide do so without harming others, there are exceptions. But even if no one else would be harmed, shouldn't the compassionate, moral person try to stop someone else's suicide if possible?

I would argue that little good (if any) results from a suicide and that almost never outweighs the grief it causes. If you've ever known anyone who committed suicide, you probably already know his or her family was devastated afterward, particularly when the victim was young and otherwise healthy.

My qualified yes, referenced earlier, would be that you should at least know the affected person somewhat before attempting to intervene. You cannot police the entire world. Suicidal "confessions" that are actually hoaxes, particularly if done online, have been known to happen.

I guess I'm fortunate because I don't think I would ever consider suicide. Even if my husband and son were wiped out in some horrible accident, I think I would press on.

I had some pretty rough times when I moved out at sixteen and had to support myself. But I never, ever despaired. I knew if I pressed on, things would get better, and they did. I never thought about ending it all.

I realize that others are not fortunate this way. They may be burdened by depression. That's where others may be able to step in and help. It's easy to look away; it's harder to lend a hand.

As for the pilot, if he did commit suicide, what an incredibly monstrous thing he did. There are plenty of ways to kill yourself; slaughtering others in the process is cowardly and absolutely heinous.

is this discrimination?

You may need to look at an enlargement of the photo below in order to read the sign: it says that non-nudists are prohibited. I don't know if the non-naked would be arrested, fined, or simply escorted out of the area. It may be a private beach.

Now obviously if a beach had a sign that said "no blacks or Asians" or "no Jews or Catholics," that would be blatant discrimination and against the law in nearly every first-world country. But what about if it prohibited a lifestyle choice, like "no unmarried couples"? That, too, seems dicey to my non-lawyer mind.

Nudity is a lifestyle choice. It's a decision you can change, unlike your skin color or the religion you were born into. But it's no more or less a lifestyle choice than co-habitating without marrying.

I have no problem being nude on a beach. I've done it plenty of times. But I do have a problem prohibiting people who decide to wear bathing suits.

Someone may have a perfectly valid reason for wanting to be in a suit but wants to accompany a nudist friend, relative, or spouse. A woman having her period, for instance, or a man with a colostomy. They may feel particularly vulnerable or embarrassed to show that stuff in public.

Yes, I realize a prohibition against non-nudists may be designed to prevent gawkers. But who's to say a gawker won't get naked and gawk?

People should have the freedom to be nude in designated areas, but that freedom shouldn't be at the expense of others.

penis transplant success!

I thought this was a gag at first, but it's been confirmed by a number of sources: South African doctors revealed earlier this month that they had performed the world's first successful penis transplant surgery. The recipient has now made a full recovery and is sexually active.

For the poor guy who needed a new cock, this story was probably anything but funny. He lost his original penis after a botched circumcision three years ago. (The moral of that mishap seems to be don't get an adult circumcision unless your life depends on it.)

For anyone other than he, this probably seems like a funny story. I can imagine the phone call from the doctor: Good news, Fred! We've got a dong! It's being flown in by helicopter as we speak!

The linked article does not mention whether the man has full feeling and sensation in his new schlong. But even if not, I guess a numb dick is better than no dick at all.

I would love to have been a fly on the wall when the doctors asked the donor's family about harvesting that particular organ. Perhaps it started something like: You might think we're joking, but actually...

33,333 subscribers

I happened to notice the subscriber statistics shown below when I accessed the control panel on my Tumblr yesterday. That was a landmark I couldn't ignore so I did a quick screen capture.


My Tumblr is much different than this blog. I feature three erotic photos a day plus a quote and that's it, a minimalist nod to less is more. I've been doing four entries a day for more than six years, nearly as long as this blog.

I try to feature only shots that haven't been seen on other Tumblrs before to supply a fresher mixture. I don't know if 33,333 subscribers is good or bad because they never show stats for any other users, but it can't be a bad thing.

So if you're not already checking in there on occasion, now would be a perfect time to stop by.

clown car physics

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

harnessing the force

This is very cute and clever: a nerdwiz has modified a conventional quadcopter drone to look like a Star Wars Speeder Bike. The instructions for making your own are online.

What intrigues me about the thing is the idea that it could be developed into an actual technology for humans. The real device would be much larger, of course, and hopefully run on advanced rechargeable battery technology so no wasteful fossil fuel.

It would also need some sort of governor or whatever you call it to keep the thing from flying more than two or so feet off the ground. Helmets, seatbelts, and a lightweight crash cage would be required.

The invention might then be paired with the driverless car technology, meaning one need not be adept at driving and flying the thing in order to have one. You'd just hop in, key in your destination on the GPS, and away you go.

Imagine all of the places one could go, making roads and their maintenance much less necessary. It would also be great for the handicapped.

Now if I had a spare billion dollars or two in my sock drawer, I could invest in making the idea a reality.

you can call me bitch

The latest issue of The Atlantic magazine has an interesting short article about the etymology and evolution of the word bitch. As you undoubtedly know, the word originally referred to a female dog and is still used that way in canine circles.

A few centuries back, it also took on a pejorative meaning in reference to women. From there it spread into the gay culture and elsewhere.

More recently, it has yet another meaning, more of a sort of exclamation or flourish. Take that, bitches.

Of course, women are still called bitch. Some (many?) would take great offense, but it's never bothered me.

If you call me bitch, it means I've bested you. I got the last parking spot, the last sale dress in that size, the upper hand or whatever. Call me bitch, and it means you lost and I won.

The word I loathe is cunt. If you want to talk about my cunt, as in that thing between my legs, then I have no problem. It sometimes even goes by the nickname cunny.

But if you call me cunt in a nasty way, then this bitch will have a real problem and make you sorry for what you said. Then you'll be calling me bitch -- in defeat, of course.

sentenced for slacks

This is a 1938 picture of Helen Hulick, a kindergarten teacher from Los Angeles who witnessed a burglary. When she showed up in court to give testimony about the crime, was given a five-day sentence and sent to jail for contempt because she wore pants.

Flash forward some seventy-five years, and not only are women wearing pants, chances are the judge in the courtroom has them on under her robe. But still places exist where it's considered "improper" for women to wear slacks.

At many private schools in the United States where uniforms are worn, and in some public schools, too, girls are required to wear skirts. Why? Will morals so completely collapse if a female has on more comfortable and practical pants?

My brother sends my nieces to a school where the girls must wear a uniform skirt. The boys have uniform pants. Why don't all students have pants, regardless of gender?

I've never understood why men lose their shit about women in pants. I'd think you'd have a better sense of the woman under the clothes in pants than in a skirt.

You'd see less and have to imagine more if she's wearing a full skirt. But if she's in snug, fitted pants, much more of the unknown would be known.

True, with slacks, a chance glance of her bare thighs isn't possible like in a dress. And one could always hope that the woman in the skirt was a true libertine without panties who would show you a rare sight.

The Los Angeles Times had an interesting article last year about Helen Hulick and her fight for equal pants rights. She sounds like a really interesting person.

HNT reunion tour

After Blogger announce their censorship plans, and before they were rescinded, the Grand Potentate of Half Nekkid Thursday announced a final last hurrah HNT. Although the ban was lifted, he decided to continue with the plan with the Not Quite Absolute Last Half Nekkid Thursday.

I haven't done one in nearly three years. I decided on something relatively modest without a click-through, because our son often sees the pictures on Daddy's camera, so no point in giving him a Freudian shock of Mummy in her birthday suit if it can be avoided.

Be sure to see the rest of the Half Nekkid Thursday collection and the naughty annex as well.

women wearing men's colognes

Town and Country magazine is running an article about women wearing men's cologne. This is not a new idea. I learned this from a very sexy Italian woman I knew in New York.

I've also modified this by wearing a light amount of male cologne with a dash of female perfume at the same time. I still do occasional trade show modeling, and one of my semi-regular gigs for about five years has been handing out free men's cologne samples at trade and industry shows.

As a result, I have a ridiculous number of tiny men's cologne bottles because I'm allowed to keep the free samples I don't give away. My husband will wear these on rare occasion, but he's not much into scents.

So I dab on one of the male samples and then a spritz of my own perfume before going out. James says it makes me smell like I've just been in bed with a man, which may explain some looks I've gotten on the train.

green at the gills

Today is St. Patrick's Day, of course. I'm mostly Irish, as is my husband, but neither of us really celebrate the day because we don't drink. And with a 28-month-old child at home, there's not too much we can do out in the evening.

So it will be a non-event here as a result. I'm never really sure what to do on minor holidays like this anyway.

I had the idea to make something in the kitchen that could be dyed green with food coloring, but I found that the choices are limited. James rarely eats dessert other than fresh fruit, but of course Joey will eat nearly anything put in front of him. The crazier it looks, the more he seems interested.

I made mashed potatoes for lunch one day last week because he loves them and dyed those green. They looked rather disgusting to my eye, but he tucked right into those after the monosyllabic pronouncement "green."

Green milk was also a hit. The color seemed to tempt him. One day soon I will try blue milk and see how he goes for that. I'm pretty sure that will be ingested with little to no comment.

The only thing that turned out tempting to me were the green cupcakes. My husband wouldn't eat them, but my son gobbled them down like a starved dog.

So whatever you're doing today, Happy St. Patrick's Day! If you're drinking, imbibe sensibly, please. And there are more photos of the girl doing some naughty things with her stout bottle online, if you care to see.

the girl on the train

I finished the new novel The Girl on the Train by British author Paula Hawkins last night. I highly recommend this book, particularly for thriller readers and women.

Normally I'm very cautious of books on the bestseller list because more often than not I find them mediocre and trite. Even a good thriller often relies on implausible plot twists and/or unbelievable coincidences.

Happily, Hawkins's book manages to avoid these pitfalls while telling a crackling good story with believable characters and situations. The tension and jeopardy are continually escalated as the book progresses, effectively using setups introduced early in the story that seemed utterly harmless at first.

What's really intriguing about the novel, in my opinion, is the masterful way the author takes a rather unlikable character and makes you both like her and root for her. The heroine is obsessive, nasty, a drunk, a failure, a slob, and stalks two different men yet you want to see her get her shit together.

Hawkins manages to do this by peeling away all the heroine's layers to reveal the essential truths at her core. Concurrently, she does the same with two other important female characters until you see the invisible dynamic at work between the three.

The book's movie rights have been snapped up by Dreamworks, but I have to say I'm not looking forward to that. I don't think it's easily adaptable because the story is written from the inside out as a sort of confession.

The Girl on the Train is being targeted to Gone Girl readers, but in my opionon Hawkins's book is a far superior novel. The two just don't compare.

Read it. I think you'll be glad you did.

the hamster versus the pig

This had me laughing like a fool. It somewhat reminded me of a comedy routine I saw at a club in Los Angeles about eight years ago, where two women portraying super models were competitors in a Wheat Thin eating competition.

Of course, they didn't eat any of them, yet they had a variety of increasingly clever methods to keep the judge from discovering they weren't eating anything. It was one of the funnest things I've ever seen. If only it was on YouTube.

I don't get John Wayne

I was looking through DVDs to borrow at the library the other day and saw several oldies starring John Wayne. I thought about them, but did not check them out.

I had never asked my husband James if he liked John Wayne or not, so I decided primarily for that reason. Truth be told, I realized I never really liked John Wayne, but if James liked him, I'd sit through the movie.

I don't know why I don't like Wayne. He's not a terrible actor, but then again he's not brilliant. I think his acting style is somewhat mannered, but that's not uncommon for actors from previous eras. (And, of course, there's no shortage of mannered actors working now.)

There's just something about him that rubs me the wrong way. I think it's the voice. I know he's this great icon and American legend and all that, but he just sounds like a raspy old smoker to me.

I imagine it's an age thing, too. He was long before my time and his magic did not transcend my generation.

I believe the last movie I saw him in, seen sometime before I met my husband, was The Quiet Man, which I found overrated. Wayne was okay in that but Maureen O'Hara really chewed the scenery right down to the ground. And I think the story was rather tired and cliched.

When my husband came home, I asked if he liked John Wayne. He said he was neither here nor there about him, so I might check out the movies for his benefit.

friday the thirteenth

Today is, of course, Friday the thirteenth. Is it an unlucky day?

Such talk is nothing but superstitious. I don't really believe superstitions. If you walk under a ladder or see a black cat, that is not an omen. Spilling salt is not a catastrophe. If a bird flies in the house, that does not mean someone will die.

Still, when it comes to Friday the thirteenth, I always feel a bit uneasy. I'm always extra careful. I won't do anything risky today. I won't drive over the speed limit. I'll be careful with everything I do and the same for my son.

So I don't believe anything bad will happen. I don't believe in bad luck. But on Friday the thirteenth, it doesn't hurt to be a little too careful, to not tempt fate.

wholesale destruction

I have been reading various articles recently about ISIS's bulldozing of ancient Nimrud. Many of the artwork and structures destroyed were more than 3,300 years old.

This kind of mindless barbarity is beneath contempt. The irreparable damage done to these ancient cultural sites is just so incredibly sad.

Like many people, I've seen beautiful art and artifacts from Nimrud that are preserved in the British Museum. I particularly remember just staring in wonder at the huge, spectacular pair of winged lions they have on display. Sadly, ISIS destroyed similar statues in Nimrud itself.

Unfortunately, the press has focused on what ISIS claims as its motive is for this insanity: to destroy graven images that offend God. In reality, as some outlets have correctly reported, they plan on selling some of the looted artwork on the black market to feed their treasury.

This, of course, is not the first time ISIS has destroyed priceless cultural masterpieces. Wikipedia has a catalog of their mindless barbarity.

Other examples can be found in history when wholesale destruction of artwork and architecture took place. Some of the perpetrators include the Nazis and various barbarian hordes in earlier history. ISIS now joins that distinguished company.

It's disturbing how ISIS now seems like a much eviler and more bloodthirsty version of groups such as Al Qaeda and the Taliban. From their cruel beheadings to their mass enslavements to their cultural destruction, they actually seem to revel in their barbarity. It's disgusting.

It's times like this I feel irresponsible for bringing a child into the world. I pray his future doesn't see darker periods of history than anything humans have experienced before, thanks to groups like ISIS.

I only hope there is an afterlife and the ISIS clan will learn that the supreme being is supremely pissed at them. I think an eternal buggering with a white-hot poker would be too kind a punishment.

porn star glamour

I think the outtake shown below perfectly captures how making porn films is not exciting like some might think. It's labor, not joy nor ecstasy.

She's polishing his knob, but it must seem like he's at the dentist with hands and equipment all around his face. And, unlike a real movie, he can't really act like he's enjoying this because the camera can't see his face. I imagine he's saying, without really feeling it, "Oh! Oh! Oh!" or something equally profound

I blogged a while back about how I once pretty seriously considered doing porn when I was eighteen. I actually did two scenes to both test the waters and also because I desperately needed money at the time.

They were both girl-girl scenes. I hated the experience because the other women involved were particularly unpleasant. I had the idea that if I did lesbian scenes during the trial phase, it wouldn't seem like fucking for money, meaning it wouldn't feel like prostitution.

But it ended up seeming more like a trip to the gynecologist. The men involved in the production acted entirely dispassionate and clinical about the whole thing. It was as glamorous as waiting in line at the DMV.

the timebomb in your ass

I'm in regular email touch with my father's youngest brother, a black sheep like me and quite a character. I saw him regularly when I visited my grandfather because he lives within walking distance. I'm also close to his sons, my cousins.

When he turned fifty, my uncle had the idea that he should have a colonoscopy. Afterwards he was glad he had it done because the doctor removed a bunch of benign polyps, which very likely could have developed into colon cancer with time.

As a result, my uncle turned into a big advocate for colonoscopies, to the point where he was a bit of a pest to his friends when he repeatedly urged them to have a butt check. One of them, his best friend since childhood, who I met several times, refused to have his colon checked.

I received an email from my cousin yesterday about my uncle's closest friend for half a century. He died over the weekend, after a failed battle with colon cancer. He had been diagnosed last year when it was in an advanced stage; it then spread to his spine and liver.

This will probably turn my uncle into a nearly unbearable pest about colonoscopies, but he's spot on. Had his friend had a colonoscopy when my uncle did, he likely would be alive today, causing mischief and making everyone laugh.

If you're over fifty, get a colonoscopy if you haven't had your first one already. Call right now to make an appointment. There's no good reason to say no, and many good reasons to say yes.

the beholder's eye

The New York Times ran an article over the weekend about a nineteenth century painting that sold at Christie's auction house in 2013 for a little over $5,000 in American dollars.

Earlier this year, the painting sold again at Sotheby's auction house for more than $5 million.

The reason for the difference is that, in 2013, it was deemed to be a copy of John Constable's work. In 2015, it was decided that the painting was not a copy but something Constable himself had done.

I find this an interesting commentary on the power of a name. Why is it worth more when directly attributed to an artist? The painting itself remains unchanged.

Do you buy artwork because of "the name" or do you buy it because you like it? If it's the latter, then it doesn't matter if it was painted by John Constable or an utter unknown.

This suggests to me that people may buy expensive art because of the name alone and really don't care if they actually like it. They're buying it merely for the prestige.

People pay millions for Jackson Pollack paintings, which are nothing more than thousands of drips on canvas. I'd be willing to bet a lot of people don't actually like Pollack's work but buy them because of the bragging rights it gives them. I wonder if any of them wake up in the middle of the night and think, "jeez, I paid $20 million for a used dropcloth."

I've seen some Constable paintings in museums that I think are very beautiful. In all honesty, the $5 million painting doesn't appeal to me (you can see it by clicking through to the article). It just doesn't seem to have Constable's quiet power IMHO. But if I could buy it for $5,000 and flip it for a thousand times as much, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

I had a friend of a friend in Los Angeles who bought several paintings by famous artists for next to nothing at yard sales in the middle of the day. He did not try to flip them and, last I heard, he still had them. The paintings were all signed, too.

That sort of proves my theory that it was the name that made them valuable, not whether they were good or bad. If they had been truly good, then why didn't people buy them within seconds of the yard sales openings?

thought for the day

Another treasure found at Imgur. It's not just Mother Nature that has a sense of humor.

But seriously, it's always a good idea to be careful when entering back there. A pooper isn't as pliable as a pussy.

the criminal mind

I still entertain ideas about studying for a degree. However, I've been in a holding pattern with that because I want to see if I get pregnant again.

But the time will come when building the family is finished, and that would be the time to enroll, if I go at all. As to what I would study, I believe the best choice would be something that's held my interest for a long time, a calling of sorts.

The two subjects that I keep returning to are quite different: photography and criminology. I think I have a good eye for photography and wouldn't tire of it. It's a field where I could always find some work and possibly with a flexible schedule, particularly if I worked for myself.

Criminology is very different, but it's always fascinated me, and I've read a lot about it. I have to think jobs in that arena are not easy to find and wouldn't really be on a flexible schedule. So this may not be the best choice.

That aside, I think it would be fascinating to study why criminals, usually men, commit particularly violent sexual crimes. What makes them tick? Why do they give into their impulses when 99.99 percent of men don't?

With that said, I wonder if I could actually study and interview such men in a clinical capacity. Would they open up to someone like me? Or would they just see me as potential prey, something to toy with and amuse themselves?

My husband said I might have a better chance in this career if I stopped shaving my legs, gained eighty pounds, and wore a "I'm proud to be a dyke" T-shirt. He said, otherwise, with my looks, no sex maniac behind bars would take me seriously. He may well be right.

adventures in synesthesia

As an adult, I've always wondered if I have some form of synesthesia. If you're not familiar with the term, synesthesia means multiple senses respond after stimulating only one sense. So you hear a particular musical note and you also see a particular color at the same time, for instance.

If I have synesthesia, I think it has dulled with time. I remember as a child in early elementary school that I associated certain colors with bad smells. I would not wear yellow or gray, because I thought I smelled something nasty when I was near those colors.

I still "see" colors with certain musical instruments. I usually sense blue when I hear a flute and a sort of purple when I hear a violin. I occasionally see certain letters as dark blue or green, but that doesn't happen very often, and it must be a bolder typeface for it to happen.

Patterns can trigger synesthesia, too, and I've always had a sense that certain patterns are "better" than others. I also can spot pattern flaws very easily, even in very complex designs.

The most intense time I've had any sensation, if it indeed is synesthesia, is when I have an orgasm. Everything seems to turn to a bright yellow-orange just as it's happening and for a few seconds after it subsides. But there may be another biological reason for that.

The only testing I've ever had done on this front was when I was in about fourth grade or so. We had some kind of standardized test that included a whole section on what I realize now was pattern recognition.

Some of us apparently did quite well on that, because a researcher came to the school later and ran further tests on about a half dozen of us. I remember sequencing patterns very quickly, and the researcher asked me a lot of questions about why I had done what I did. I had no idea. It just seemed right.

Knowing whether or not I actually have synesthesia is of no importance. But sometimes I wonder if my son might have it, too, because he'll frequently trace his finger along patterns on the wallpaper, tablecloth, bedspreads, you name it. My brother said I did the same thing when I was about his age.

five times a charm?

One of my husband's sisters was telling me about a longtime girlfriend who is thinking of getting married. She's in her later thirties and has never been hitched. The object of her affection is a man in his later forties.

He is quite well off and owns his own successful business. According to my sister-in-law, he's quite good looking and keeps in shape. So he would seem like a pretty fine prospect on first blush.

But there's a catch, potentially a big one. He's in the process of getting divorced. It's not his first divorce. It's his fourth.

Color me skeptical. Color me very skeptical. My sister-in-law feels the same way.

One divorce is perfectly understandable. Two divorces likely might ring some alarms. Three or any more is pretty daunting.

If someone has four failed marriages, or about two a decade, that suggests he has some hidden issues. One might suspect a fear of long-term commitment. Or he considers a wife like a Mercedes, great when you first get one but ready for a trade in after four or five years. Or he views marriage like most people view "let's move in together and see how it goes."

I guess if she's madly in love, she'll see past this issue and won't give it a second thought. But if four times were not a charm, what's to say that the fifth one will be?

In all honesty, if I was still single and a man told me he'd been married four times, I think that would be the last date. I'd be fine for a "friends with benefits" arrangement if he was a hot number in bed, but nothing more than that.

Oh, and yes, there would be a pre-nup. He insists on it.

pussy empire

I showed this article to my son, who is now 27 months old. He's fascinated by both dogs and cats. I played the imbedded video about eight times, yet he still didn't tire of it.

The piece is about Aoshima Island, a tiny dot of an island in Japan where cats outnuber people by six to one. I particularly like the picture below, because it resembles a promotional still from a movie in the style of Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds.

I like animals but that's a bit too many animals for me. Imagine how the place smells. But at least you wouldn't have to worry about walking in cat poop, because the creatures tend to hide it.

The article was accompanied by a slideshow, which also kept my son entertained. As a mother, I guess I don't have to worry about my son being fascinated by this kind of pussy.

property of Jolene

I would have liked to ask him a few questions just before he had yet another tattoo slapped on his puss. Some that come to mind:

"Don't you think nine are enough already?"

"What is that thing supposed to be on your nose?"

"Do you happen to have a picture of Jolene with you?" (You might need to look at an enlargement to understand that question.)

I'm also wondering about the significance of the jail jumpsuit here. Most mugshots I've seen show the suspect in his or her own clothes.

Does this mean he was arrested at the beach? He had blood splatter on his own clothes which had to be seized for evidence?

I would also like to watch his sentencing hearing if the judge happens to be African-American or Jewish. That should be interesting.

brideshead re-revisited

I am currently re-reading Brideshead Revisited. I read it once when I was about twelve when most of the writing's beauty and subtlety probably flew over my head. Now reading it with a few adult years under my belt, it's an entirely different experience.

It is, without a doubt, one of the most beautifully written books I've ever read. I quite honestly knew very little about Evelyn Waugh's work before I took this up a second time, but I will definitely be reading more of his books soon.

The following passage, which is self-explanatory and can be read out of context, is a good example of the the writing's depth and strength:

"These memories, which are my life -- for we possess nothing certainly except the past -- were always with me. Like the pigeons of St Mark's, they were everywhere, under my feet, singly, in pairs, in little honey-voiced congregations, nodding, strutting, winking, rolling the tender feathers of their necks, perching sometimes, if I stood still, on my shoulder; until, suddenly, the noon gun boomed and in a moment, with a flutter and sweep of wings, the pavement was bare and the whole sky above dark with a tumult of fowl."

Waugh is like Shakespeare in the way he makes every word count so much. It's just heaven.

about face!

Apparently many people complained to Google about their new policy of restricting adult blogs, because they've done a complete about-face on their policy. So the news is that there is no news.

My blog will not be forced to close or convert to invitation-only. That's good news, at least for me. I enjoy being able to communicate with the wider world and put some of my thoughts into print.

After having blogged for almost six and a half years, with daily entries, it's become a regular part of my life. Other than my husband and a few close relatives on my side of the family, plus a few long-time friends, no one I know "in person" sees this blog. I would be less candid if they did.

So you will continue to see my blather and rantings here day in, day out, unless I happen to drop dead or am struck by a truck or meteor.