Pondering the Preposterous...

I find it amusing how some gender roles persist even though they serve no practical purpose. For example, a man holding the door open for a woman. It assumes that the woman hasn't the strength to open the door for herself, though we all know that there are plenty of brawny women who could body slam and permanently cripple a good portion of the male species.

But I don't see anything wrong with that particular courtesy. As long as the man isn't grinning smugly as he holds the door, or the woman isn't feigning helplessness as she waits for the man to perform his "duty." I had a History professor who on the first day of class made it very clear that she would not tolerate men in her class who displayed such "chauvinistic" behavior.

I'm sure she saw plenty of doors slammed in her face that semester.

So here's one gender role, though more of an expectation, that I find utterly stupid. And that's for a man to stand up while peeing. Really...if you stop and think about this you're likely to laugh at how obscene and lame it is to whiz over a toilet bowl and hope your fluid hits the target. So, come on, if there's a seat, use it. Pity the poor individual who has to clean up after a man who can't aim.

There are exceptions, however--two that immediately come to mind. If it's a public restroom, by all means, stand tall and do your best William Tell. In that respect we men are very fortunate. And, of course, if you're out in the wild it's perfectly acceptable to pee in the vertical position. Especially if snow is involved; I would never turn my back on Mother Nature's very own etch-a-sketch.

But if you're in your own home, sit down and enjoy it--you'll save in the long run on toilet cleanser. And don't complain about the seat being cold--you wuss! Just think about the poor schmuck who has to wipe away your golden dribble.

Starbucks with my sister:

Sis: (exasperated) What book are you reading now?

Me: (peers over book) It's a sci-fi by Ben Bova.

Sis: What? Please tell me that's not the author's name.

Me: (laughing) Yeah, so what. I know it's a strange name...he's good, though.

Sis: Ben Bova? That sounds like bend over!

Me: Hey, it's catchy.

Sis: What's the book called?

Me: Moonrise...

Sis: (throws head back) You are so not serious! You're reading a book by bend over and it's called Moonrise! Hahahahahahahahahaha! You're such a nerd!

Me: (glowing) Hey, thanks.

*************************

By the way, Moonrise is an awesome book so far! It's about nanobugs that go on a killing spree inside a moon base. Lots of gore and screaming and angry characters that kick ass!

Here's a line of dialogue from one of the characters:

"...slime-sucking, puss-eating, dung-dripping misbegotten son of a promiscuous Albanian she-goat and a syphilitic refugee from a leper colony..."

Classic.

Book Police...

Books. I love them. I love collecting them, smelling them, reading them, and then placing them in alphabetical order on my bookshelf. I like to stand back and stare at them. I like to run my finger down their spines and feel their silky smoothness. I'm in love with books.

When a friend asks to borrow a book I cringe. Usually I offer to buy a new book for them instead of loaning my own. I just can't deal with knowing that one of my books is in the hands of someone else. How will my book be treated? Will it come back to me dog-eared? Will it have coffee stains? Or will it come back at all?

Once I loaned a book to a friend. But upon visiting his house I found the book on the back of his toilet. There it sat, all alone, just inches from where people unload their waste. How could I ever rub that book against my face again? How could I ever take pleasure in its papery scent.

When I read a book I hold it in just a way that the spine never creases. Sort of like trying to read the inside of a taco shell. I just hate to see a book with a wrinkly spine. They should be flawless, smooth, glossy, and look as though they were printed only yesterday. I won't accept anything less.

How do you treat your books?

Random Time...

Do you watch American Idol? I'm addicted. I truly love that show! It's hilarious; and I need to laugh more so I plan to be glued to my set this season. But it really ticks me off to hear that Kelly Clarkson has refused to allow American Idol contestants to use her songs for this season. What a little snob. I don't like her music but if I did I definitely wouldn't buy her CDs now.

Update on the Chili Finger scam. Woohoo, the jerks are going to prison for nine years!! Here's a blog I wrote when this scandal first surfaced.

So Survivor is coming to my town in search of contestants for the show. Yes, Survivor is another reality show that I'm addicted to. FORGIVE! Do you think I should audition? I think I could handle forty days on an island with 18 strangers. I only foresee two problems: I have a fear of eating bugs that squirt yellow gunk out their ass. And I'm severely afraid of sharks. Other than those two minor issues I think I can do it. The auditions are January 25th. I'll let you know. I may wimp out. In fact, it's extremely likely.

I read today that William Shatner--you know, Captain Kirk--sold his kidney stone for $25,000. You see, if I was famous I could sell my bellybutton lint and turn a huge profit. So there's still hope.

Gross things...

It's only recently that I discovered that there really is such a thing as bellybutton lint. I used to think it was an exaggeration--something people joked about but never existed in a tangible sense. Not anymore. For now I've discovered it for myself, and I find that I am truly addicted to lint foraging.

It's not that I think about it all day. But once I get home and sit myself at the computer my hand naturally gravitates to that ever-deepening mine of fuzz. I dig and dig, push aside fool's lint (attached hair), and pinch out that downy soft knot of what was once part of a sweater or a threadbare shirt.

I never know what to do with my little treasures, though. It's not like I can sell them on e-Bay or ship them off to the Salvation Army; so they usually end up being flicked over my shoulder, or they spend a few minutes on my mouse pad until they are unknowingly trampled over and end up stuck to that little rubber ball inside the mouse casing.

And then I think, What purpose do these tiny fuzzy morsels serve? And I've come to the conclusion that it must be God's way of allowing men to give birth to something. For who knows how long the tiny lint was stuck to the wall of the bellybutton, growing larger every day, receiving nutrition from sweatshirts, blankets, and shower towels. Until one day the little guy pokes its furry head out and sees the world for the first time.

Speaking of driving...

I was heading down a fairly wide street in Fresno the other day and nearly ran over two chickens. Yes, that's right, two chickens were attempting to cross the road.

Now, Fresno is a decent sized city--roughly 600,000 inhabitants--and, indeed, it used to be a farm town. But I can honestly say that I've never seen a chicken--or any other farm animal for that matter--crossing the road.

But what Fresno does have is a burgeoning population of Hmong, or Southeast Asian, residents. And some of these are particularly fond of their chickens; you often hear them crowing from the back yard (the chickens, not the Hmong) and it sort of jars you for a moment. At least it does me, having never lived on a farm.

So, in a way, I wasn't too surprised to see these two chickens cavorting across the road. I immediately decided that they had escaped from their yard and, like Wilbur in Charlotte's Web, were probably contemplating escape before they ended up on someone's dinner table.

I swerved to avoid the two chickens, successfully. But as I did, I couldn't help but wonder if they were infected by the Avian Flu. So, like any cautious soul, I held my breath and pressed my foot a little harder on the gas pedal.

With the two chickens safely reduced to mere fluttering dots in my rearview mirror, I breathed a sigh of relief and let up on the gas to resume my normal mode of driving, which, as I mentioned in a previous post, involves a strict abidance of the law.

I am now happy to report that I am in full health and carry no guilt for having flirted with disaster. I have confidence that the two chickens have reached their destination--whether it be safely to the road's other side, or mashed in a Goodyear tire. Though, more likely, plucked, broiled, and resting on a dinner table.

New Year's Resolution

In the year 2006 I resolve to: Eat at least 2 pigeons a week. Get your resolution here

From Hel, with love.

To speed or not to speed...

When I first got my driver's license I was always in a hurry. Even when I really had no place in particular to go, I just had to drive fast. It was like I was in a constant state of rush. The moment I got behind the wheel I envisioned my destination and like a tightly wound rubber band I sprang forward at top speed.

And when I found myself behind a slug of a driver--you know, the kind that actually drive the speed limit--I became real anxious and frustrated, honking, and hitting my dash, before zooming around them and shooting them a venomous glare.

But now that I'm older the tables have turned.

I am now that slug of a driver. Now it's me who drives as though I have no place to go, constantly checking to make sure my speedometer is not a hair above the legal mark. Staying at least a car's length behind the guy in front of me.

And now I see those kids in my rearview mirror, those kids that resemble me a decade ago. I recognize their impatient, angry scowls. And I laugh. Even when they get right on my ass, I laugh. Even when they honk and throw up their hands, I laugh.

Sometimes I tilt the rearview mirror back a notch so that I can't see them. And I forget about them until they speed by me and shoot me that familiar look of death. And I laugh.

So which one are you?

Iraqi Power...

You've got to admire the Iraqis for their overwhelming and enthusiastic support of their fledgling government. Even with the daily attacks by cowardly terrorists the majority of Iraqis remain optimistic and continue to go about their business, working, shopping, going to school, and celebrating religious holidays.

So when I read this morning that there was another suicide bombing outside a police headquarters in Ramadi, where 1000 applicants were being screened for the struggling police force, I felt disheartened. Another sad setback for the Iraqis.

Then I read that later the surviving recruits got right back in line to continue the screening process, and I thought, Wow, talk about snubbing the terrorists. No matter what these delinquent cowards throw at them, the Iraqis consistently bounce right back. They are indomitable, unshakable, and determined to take back their country.

In twenty years students of history are going to read how in just a few years the United States helped the Iraqis to oust a brutal dictator, set up a democratic government, and pave the way for other Middle Eastern nations to follow suit. It's absolutely amazing when you consider how much has been done in such a short time and with relatively little loss of life compared with other wars.

And those Americans, regardless of party, who are screaming for us to withdraw from Iraq immediately will be reduced to a pathetic footnote...like those who opposed entering WWII. Like Iraq, America has its pool of cowards and naysayers, but also like Iraq, the optimistic, the stalwart, and the steadfast, thankfully, make up the majority.

Much About Nothing...

Are the holidays really over? Thank God! A return to normalcy. Whatever that means.

I haven't decided yet on a specific list of New Year's resolutions but I know it will entail reading more, writing more, and watching less TV. I think I'm going to keep a list of the books I read this year. I often wonder how many books per year I read. Stephen King says that any respectable writer should read at least 80 books per year (that includes books on CD) but then again not all of us have the luxury of independence from a demanding employer. Though I suppose Stephen King would argue that his publishers are pretty demanding. So no excuses, just turn off the glass brain killer and read!

Speaking of, has anyone read the Dragon Riders of Pern series? I just finished Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern and I have a question. I'm confused about something. The gist of the story is that a plague sweeps across Pern killing people and animals within a span of nine days. The plague originated in a strange animal from the never-before-explored southern continent and was brought to the people of Pern via a lone fishing vessel. Most everyone on Pern dies of this plague. But the survivors discover a vaccine and so they decide to inject those that are left. Only they run out of these plant syringes (like cactus needles) and so they travel back in time to the springtime to harvest more of them. They succeed and the plague is obliterated. Now...are you thinking what I'm thinking? If you can travel six months into the past to harvest cactus needles then why not stop the ship that brought the damn plague animal? I don't get it. And I haven't come across anyone on the net who had the same problem. OK, enough ranting. You probably skipped this section anyway. And I don't blame you. I don't even want to proofread it. Though I will...because I'm neurotic.

Oh, did you hear about the two headed albino rat snake that's going to be auctioned on eBay for $150,000? Yeah, no kidding. There's a picture below.


Now why didn't they hold the auction before Christmas? I so would've scratched iPod off my Christmas list for a two headed albino rat snake.