"... all life on earth can be viewed as a competition among species for the solar energy captured by photosynthesis..." (The Omnivore's Dilemma).

The sentence caused a flicker of response, a spark something interesting begun in my mind. I set the book down to consider, to let that spark develop. Just think about that sentence for a minute. All life on earth derives from the sun. Amazing, that. A flash in my mind of solar particles streaming to earth, warming the soil, spurring to growth, and the whole rest of everything else on this tiny planet in a distant solar system in a backwater galaxy burgeoning out from that soil. It's mysical, it's miraculous. Just because we can explain certain bits of how it all fits together doesn't detract from the wonder of it all.

Amazing.

It's been a while since I've attempted to pray, but this seemed to call for it. For along with the wonder, the awe at the intricacy and inter-twinedness of it all, was gratitude. Maybe I'm just globally grateful to be the recipient of life, maybe I'm grateful to a specific entity -- yes, god -- but whatever it may be, it seemed appropriate to express that gratitude.

So I tried to form a prayer, and...

it didn't work.

The salutation... "Oh, lord"... seemed pompous and false. "Father God", which (being fatherless) I relished in my adolescence, didn't work, either. I shied away from both... with a surprisingly visceral revulsion. Wrong. They were just wrong.

Okay, so skip the salutation. On to the meat of it. I struggled to line up the words in the best order, to best express what I was feeling, and again, it didn't work. It was so damned artificial. Like I was composing a stiff and proper thank-you note. And it wasn't so much the tenor of the thing -- formal, casual, ponderous or light -- no matter how I tried it, whipping out phrases and tossing them away like discarded garments, none of them worked. The problem wasn't the tone of voice, the problem was the words themselves.

Not which words I was choosing, just words. Language, at all.

I love words. I think it's possibly humanity's highest achievement, language. There are few things I love more than the puzzle of trying to fit the words to express the meaning, playing with them, ordering them, picking and choosing to get just the right nuance, feeling, to connect my mind with yours. It's profoundly satisfying to me.

But in this instance, words were not bridging gaps. Words were taking the feeling and reducing it, channeling it, limiting it.

In fact, the more I struggled to package up my responses and mail them off to that great ear in the sky, the more the whole endeavour just became ... embarrassing. The words didn't fit. They were profoundly limiting, and, thereby, false.

Limiting not just of my feelings, but of where I was sending them. The expressions of God that I grew up with don't really fit my perception of him/her/it now. "Father" God doesn't do it. (Nor would "mother".) Those words make whole thing too concrete, too specific, too bounded in physical reality, in human experience. "Lord"? Good lord. I think not. I don't think that way any more. Once more, embarrassing.

Instead, I simply focussed on the feelings of wonderment, satisfaction, appreciation for this mystical, miraculous, marvellous world, in all its astonishing intricacy.

If there is (as I believe) a god out there, and if he/she/it notes and cares what the specks in creation think or do (I'm largely dubious), then surely he/she/it doesn't need words -- words of one particular language from one particular speck (me!) on one of uncountable millions of planets in the myriad of galaxies -- to grasp what I'm trying to convey.

So I focussed on the feeling and tried to keep words out of it -- harder to do than one might think -- and trusted that it was being received. And if not, if god doesn't listen to the burbling of the teeming masses, then certainly the exercise is good for me. Awe, gratitude, appreciation are all good for the soul. (Or, if you will, the psyche, or,if you wish to reduce it that far, simply something as prosaic as your mental health.)

I did, and, though I was stumbling and clumsy in my efforts, it, unlike my abortive attempts at formal prayers, felt right.

I think I need to learn to meditate.

Atoms are very, very weird.

I am no scientist, but I have always, for all my education in the Arts and Humanities, been fascinated by science of all sorts. I researched and wrote a report on bees when I was eight, made models of clouds when I was ten, devoured books on astronomy when I was eleven and twelve, designed simple circuits in my early teens.

It's probably sadly telling that absolutely none of this happened under the tutelage or with the encouragement of an actual science teacher. I did it all on my own, because it was interesting. Perhaps if I'd stumbled across the right teacher, I'd have charged down a totally different career path. Who knows?

Science classes were intermittently interesting, but thankfully by the time I reached high school I had long since perceived the distinction critical to the survival of intellectual curiosity: Education and schooling are not the same thing. If you're lucky, there's an overlap. If you're very lucky, there's a considerable overlap. A lot of the time, there's remarkably little, or at least there was for me.

The corollary to this distinction is the awareness that just because you don't like school, doesn't mean you don't like learning. You may hate your math class and still like math. To be bored witless in your physics class (which I was), does not mean that physics is boring. Thankfully I grasped this distinction young, so my love of learning proceeded unquashed by bored teachers and learning-hostile fellow students. (No, I didn't let my peers know I did all this stuff. Do I look stupid?)

So I suffered schooling, and I did my learning (well, a good portion of it) elsewhere. Which is marvellous, for now that I'm no longer in school, I'm still learning! Unimaginable purgatory to many of my adolescent peers. I hope they're very happy slinging hash 30 years later...

(Nyah, nyah, nyah.)

It is no surprise, then, that I'm reading "A Short History of Nearly Everything" by Bill Bryson, and learning all sorts of stuff. It's the sort of book that annoys the crap out even the most long-suffering of spouses, as the person reading the book is forever calling out an excited...

"Listen to this!" (No, really. Listen!)

"For all their devoted attention, your atoms don't actually care about you--indeed, don't even know that you are there.... (It is a slightly arresting notion that if you were to pick yourself apart with tweezers, one atom at a time, you would produce a mound of fine atomic dust, none of which had ever been alive but all of which had once been you.)"

Now, isn't that a thought to set you pondering?

And when you get to the bit of the book about atoms, your pondering achieves dizzying heights. If you think with Mr. Scott that "Ye canna change the laws of physics!", you haven't considered the atom. Because, oh! Listen to this!

On an atomic level, "electrons jump from one orbit to another without traveling across any intervening space" (teleportation?!?); certain atomic pairs work in instantaneous paralell, no matter how much distance lies between them (non-sentient telepathy?), and if that's not weird enough, "matter could pop into existence from nothing at all--'provided, ... it disappears again with sufficient haste.'"

It's not so much that you can't change the laws of physics as that the laws which apply to the larger reality are irrelevant to atomic reality. Which is a mind-boggler, right there.

Atoms are mostly empty space. Well, I knew that, from my (outrageously boring) grade eleven physics class. Have known it, therefore, for decades. But either I was never told, or never grasped, the implications of this. Implications, you ask? Well, just listen to THIS!

"When two objects come together in the real world...they don't actually strike each other. 'Rather,' as Timothy Ferris explains, 'the negatively charged fields of the two balls repel each other ... were it nor for their electrical charges they could, like galaxies, pass right through each other unscathed.' [Like GALAXIES?? I will be pursuing this later, you may be sure. Back to the quote now:] When you sit in a chair, you are not actually sitting there, but levitating above it at a height of one angstrom (a hundred millionth of a centimeter), your electrons and its electrons implacably opposed to any closer intimacy."

Floating through a reality of repelling electrons. Too bad the angstrom doesn't prevent numb bum on hard office chairs...

Science is fascinating, I tell you. Utterly, utterly fascinating.

I was in Toronto. Matthew had some business to take care of, and I was whiling away the time in my old city, shopping, strolling, taking it in. I don't wish to live there again, I'm quite happy where I am, but I didn't leave because I hated it. It's nice to go back.

I dropped in at a coffee shop. I had another hour before I was to meet Matthew to catch our train back. Time enough to have a coffee, rest my legs for half an hour before walking down to Union Station. I popped into a Second Cup, hoping for a decaf skinny latte.

(Virtuous, no? And to those of you who say "Why bother with coffee if there's no caffeine?" I reply, "Because I like coffee. I like the taste of coffee, the smell of coffee, the feel of that hot cup in my hands." Otherwise, I'd just pop a caffeine pill. They do exist, you know. If caffeine's the only reason you're drinking the stuff, you don't really like it.)

I get in line. Service is very slow, but I'm not too worried. If worse comes to worse and I actually have to leave before I get my drink, so be it. I'm enjoying the funky decorations of the place (the Second Cup franchise leaves its franchisees a lot of leeway in decor), the crowd of funky people around me, the crowded shop, the buzz of the city. Just as there's more to a cup of coffee than caffeine, there's more to a coffee shop than coffee.

Even as I'm thinking this, I'm surprising myself. I must've needed a day off. I'm extraordinarily mellow.

I'm not so mellow when the funky young things behind me start sniggering, and it evidently has something to do with me. Apparently this Second Cup, unlike any other I've ever been in, uses a pull-a-number system, and "Your number came up ages ago." Well, it couldn't have, could it, since I didn't know to take a number? Smug little prats. Like most urban teens, they consider themselves so very wordly and urbane, but haven't the life experience to know that how it's done in their neck of the world is not how it's done throughout the world. That's not urbane, kiddlies, that's provincial.

All this sneering occurs in my head. In reality, I simply move forward to order my drink.

When it arrives, I hunt around for my purse -- and it's gone! Or rather, the purse over my shoulder is not mine. In the crowded line, I must've, somehow managed to set down one black leather purse and pick up another, without noticing! I scan the floor behind me. The line-up was along the counter, and there are a surprising number of purses set down there beside their owners. Easy to see how this could have happened. None of them, however, are mine.

I scan the shop. Don't see it. Could someone have picked up mine, as I've managed to scoop the wrong one, and walked off with it? Is she still in the shop somewhere, as yet unaware of her error? I think to call my cell, usually snapped onto the side of my purse, thus alerting the person of her error (because at this point, I'm still assuming it was an error), but my cell phone is in my hand.

Damn.

What to do? The panic is rising. Sternly pushed back, but rising. I'm five hours from home, I have a train to catch, I can't even pay for the coffee waiting for me on the counter! My train ticket is in my purse! Money! All my ID to replace! Ugh.I have my cell. I can call Matthew, so there's that. I look around the shop once more, scanning floors and tabletops, backs of chairs. Maybe I should check the bathroom?

I'm starting to catch people's attention with my anxious face and movements. Faces glance toward me, away, then back. People pause over their coffee to stare. No one is showing concern, though, no one is offering to help, nor even a sympathetic smile. Callous lot, just staring at me as if I'm a bug in a jar.

Then I realize why.

I am wearing nothing but my large red bath towel.

I am filled with relief. This is a dream!

I try to leave the dream. Nothing doing. But I know it's a dream, because the only times I'm ever naked or semi-naked in public, I'm dreaming. So now, even though it seems I have to continue in it, I'm a whole lot less worried about it all.

The manager of the store graciously gives me my coffee for free, and I sit down to savour it. The anxiety of the dream still compels me to keep scanning the room, and I'm a little worried at what nastiness my subconscious will have dreamt up for me when I get to the train station with no ticket, but hell! It's a dream!

May as well just enjoy the coffee and the funky, busy, urban ambience.

I woke up before I left the coffee shop, as it happens, which was a relief. A relief to be out of the situation (though once I sat down, I appeared to be fully dressed again), and a relief to know that yes, it really was a dream.

I don't interpret dreams. I rarely believe they have anything significant to tell me, that they're anything more than the farting of my subconsious. But they're entertaining, no?

Anyone care to take a run at determining what that was all about?

Did you know ...

Did you know that a "bikini wax" and a "brazilian" are not precisely the same thing?

In fact, did you know that "brazilian" is NOT a subset of "bikini wax", and so...

if you schedule a "bikini wax", thinking that when you arrived the esthetician would ask you what kind of waxing you wanted, and you would tell her, and that would be fine -- if you thought all that, you'd be wrong?

And did you further know that just because an esthetician can do a bikini wax does NOT mean she can do a brazilian?

Ha! Neither did I !!!

So I'm going back again, tomorrow, to get a brazilian. And it will take forty-five minutes. (Did you catch that? FORTY-FIVE MINUTES).

Ye gods and codfishes...

There are many good reasons to read Andrew Sullivan, though the man is so frenetically prolific, reading every post he writes would be a full-time job... Among the many good reasons are the random and funny things he finds.

File this under "Didn't think it through".

Six things about me. Meme from John.

1. I have claustrophobia. I have trained myself so that I can manage elevators, if the trip's not too long, and I can manage the toilets on trains and planes, but caves? Can't manage 'em for love nor money. (I've tried both: a bit of naughtiness completely scuppered by a panic attack; and if even that can't get me in there, bribery can't even begin to be effective.)

2. I used to play the piano with reasonable competance. I loved Chopin's waltzes in my teens, but now find them a bit lush and overblown. Bach's preludes and fugues were my adult favourites, but, sadly, life encroached and it's been years since I've played properly.

3. Every morning, I sit in front of a SAD light for 45 minutes. It keeps me from plunging the depths in the winter. I loathe winter. Loathe it. Unfortunate, that, given where I live.

4. I used to scoff at the idea of a soulmate. If such a thing existed, most of us managed just fine without one, but I had serious reservations as to the existance of such a thing. That was my stance on the matter for years. Until I met mine.

5. Although I've been happily monogamous for some years now, I am generally ambivalent about the practicality of monogamy. I certainly don't think it's neccesary or essential.

6. I am left-handed.

Someone out there thinks I have a penis. Quite a few someones, actually. Moreover they firmly believe it's insufficient, or at the very least, it's malfunctioning. Often both.

It's an interesting peek into the world of male insecurity, these Get a Bigger Dick ads. First of all, it is universally accepted that anything less than -- what? 6 inches? 9 inches? a whole fucking foot? -- is wholly insufficient. It is a Problem that must be resisted with every fibre of your manly being: never accept your small d'ck as the inevitable.


It's unacceptable, and seriously detrimental to your quality of life: yo yo, dn't let your tiny cock rule your life. (It is, however, perfectly acceptable -- appropriate! Required, even! -- to let your huge cock do just that. Because Big Cocks RULE, dude!)

And it must be fixed! great way to increase the size of your penis is here for you. Now! If not sooner! not tomorrow, not next week, enlarge your cock today. There is not a moment to lose hurry to accept this unique offer, because it means your s'ex'ua well-being. (We shall not dwell on the inherent contradiction of dozens of identical "unique" offers.)

You see, if you purchase whatever mysterious lotion, potion or mechanism that effects this wondrous enhancement, your girlfriend will be amazed at your new gigantic penis. See, though she's never said as much, your a long way from really satisfying her. This lack of satisfaction has nothing to do with your lovin' style or complete and utter lack of foreplay, it has nothing to do with your obsession with your manly bits. No, she's frustrated when you make love so why don't you give her more meat. And we're not talking steak.

You want proof? Just listen to the testimonials from satisfied customers. my friends ask what my secret it, and I say it's in my pants.


Yes, indeed. Once you're packing a solid seven, eight, ten manly inches into your pants, women will be yours for the asking. You don't have to improve your conversation, you'll never have to learn the fine art of eye (as opposed to nipple) contact. No worries about namby-pamby stuff like time, attention, patience and nuance. Shit, no! Get yerself that giant dick you've always dreamed of, and women will be having orgasms in your wake as you walk by.

If only life were really so simple...

And thank GOD it's not.

Bold the ones you've done..

01. Bought everyone in the bar a drink (all six of them...)
02. Swam with wild dolphins
03. Climbed a mountain
04. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive
05. Been inside the Great Pyramid
06. Held a tarantula
07. Taken a candlelit bath with someone
08. Said 'I love you' and meant it
09. Hugged a tree
10. Bungee jumped
11. Visited Paris
12. Watched a lightning storm at sea
13. Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise
14. Seen the Northern Lights
15. Gone to a huge sports game
16. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa
17. Grown and eaten your own vegetables
18. Touched an iceberg
19. Slept under the stars
20. Changed a baby's diaper (hundreds, I'm sure. It's not very exotic.)
21. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon
22. Watched a meteor shower
23. Gotten drunk on champagne (Ugh. I hate champagne.)
24. Given more than you can afford to charity
25. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope
26. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment (does a job interview count as "worst possible"? I didn't get the job...)
27. Had a food fight (ah, university...)
28. Bet on a winning horse
29. Asked out a stranger (Hey, Ian A. Colquhoun of Toronto. Remember me??)
30. Had a snowball fight (dozens)
31. Screamed as loudly as you possibly can
32. Held a lamb
33. Seen a total eclipse
34. Ridden a roller coaster (barf)
35. Hit a home run (in grade two)
36. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking
37. Adopted an accent for an entire day
38. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment
39. Had two hard drives for your computer (My ex and my son are geeks...)
40. Visited all 50 states
41. Taken care of someone who was shit faced (ugh. it was not noble.)
42. Had amazing friends
43. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country
44. Watched wild whales
45. Stolen a sign
46. Backpacked in Europe
47. Taken a road-trip
48. Gone rock climbing
49. Midnight walk on the beach (Naked. Heh)
50. Gone sky diving
51. Visited Ireland (No, but I'd like to.)
52. Been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love
53. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger's table and had a meal with them
54. Visited Japan (No, but I'd like to.)
55. Milked a cow - well, if expressing my own milk counts. Lord knows I FELT like a cow then...
56. Alphabetized your cds (yes, and my spices, too. Should I be embarrassed?)
57. Pretended to be a superhero
58. Sung karaoke
59. Lounged around in bed all day
60. Posed nude in front of strangers
61. Gone scuba diving
62. Kissed in the rain. (Made love in the rain.)
63. Played in the mud
64. Played in the rain
65. Gone to a drive-in theater
66. Visited the Great Wall of China
67. Started a business
68. Fallen in love and not had your heart broken
69. Toured ancient sites
70. Taken a martial arts class
71. Played D&D for more than 6 hours straight
72. Gotten married
73. Been in a movie
74. Crashed a party
75. Gotten divorced
76. Gone without food for 5 days
77. Made cookies from scratch
78. Won first prize in a costume contest
79. Ridden a gondola in Venice
80. Gotten a tattoo
81. Rafted the Snake River (Where the hell is the Snake River??)
82. Been on television news programs as an "expert"
83. Got flowers for no reason
84. Performed on stage
85. Been to Las Vegas
86. Recorded music
87. Eaten shark
88. Had a one-night stand
89. Gone to Thailand
90. Bought a house
91. Been in a combat zone
92. Buried one/both of your parents
93. Been on a cruise ship
94. Spoken more than one language fluently
95. Performed in Rocky Horror.
96. Raised children.
97. Followed your favorite band/singer on tour
98. Created and named your own constellation of stars
99. Taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country
100. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over
101. Walked the Golden Gate Bridge
102. Sang loudly in the car, and didn't stop when you knew someone was looking
103. Had plastic surgery
104. Survived an accident that you shouldn't have survived.
105. Wrote articles for a large publication
106. Lost over 100 pounds
107. Held someone while they were having a flashback
108. Piloted an airplane
109. Petted a stingray
110. Broken someone's heart (Apparently. I think he was exaggerating, since he was head over heels with in love with his "soulmate" two months later!)
111. Helped an animal give birth
112. Won money on a T.V. game show
113. Broken a bone
114. Gone on an African photo safari
115. Had a body part of yours below the neck pierced
116. Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol
117. Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild
118. Ridden a horse
119. Had major surgery
120. Had a snake as a pet
121. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
122. Slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours
123. Visited more foreign countries than U.S. states (If this means I've visited more foreign countries than I have US states. Which is easy, because US states are in a foreign country, for me. This thing must've been written by an American...)
124. Visited all 7 continents
125. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days
126. Eaten kangaroo meat
127. Eaten sushi
128. Had your picture in the newspaper
129. Changed someone's mind about something you care deeply about
130. Gone back to school
131. Parasailed
132. Petted a cockroach
133. Eaten fried green tomatoes (Saw the movie. Does that count?)
134. Read The Iliad - and the Odyssey
135. Selected one "important" author who you missed in school, and read
136. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
137. Skipped all your school reunions
138. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
139. Been elected to public office
140. Written your own computer language
141. Thought to yourself that you're living your dream
142. Had to put someone you love into hospice care
143. Built your own PC from parts
144. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn't know you
145. Had a booth at a street fair
146: Dyed your hair
147: Been a DJ
148: Shaved your head
149: Caused a car accident
150: Saved someone's life

I've been homeschooling Bekah for a few months now. She was homeschooled till grade four, went to school for four years, and decided to take a breather from the pressure cooker that is middle school before beginning high school next year.

She's enjoying her space. She's taking a couple of (grade nine!) courses by correspondence, she's improved her flute no end with her terrific new teacher. She's taking a college-sponsored ASL course, just for fun. She's spending time drawing, reading, writing, thinking. In short, she's getting a good education.

She misses being with other kids, though. It's an issue for homeschooled kids. The parent has to take particular pains to ensure they mix with other children. She does have friends in the neighbourhood, of course, but sadly, they're shut up in school all day. So, what to do? Well, seek out the local homeschooling group, and see if anyone out there is interested in getting together.

We've met a few. Most were nice, but the kids just didn't connect. (Though in one case, the other mother and I hit it off so well we're going out for coffee next week.)

And then we had the meeting last Saturday. Mother and son were to come to our home for a couple of hours. They arrive (half an hour late). First impressions weren't stellar: mom has long gray hair parted in the middle and straggling down beside her face until it faded away, dispirited, in the general area of her shoulders. Son - who is thirteen, remember - sports a very stylish bowl cut. He's got lovely hair, thick and shiny, and, unlike the picture in that link, covering his ears - but, but, but... it's in a bowl cut! Okay for four-year-olds, but...

I mentally scold myself. How petty I am! I remind myself that I'm all about living as you see fit, not worrying about arbitrary and ridiculous dictates of 'cool'.

Okay. So we shall overlook the JK styling on the teenage boy.

The rest of the visit is largely boring, punctuated by the following little nuggets:

- He and mom had asked before they arrived whether we had pets, and were delighted to know we had a hamster. When they arrived, they wanted to see her right away. As soon as the boots had been removed and coats hung, we all proceed immediately to the kitchen. Where they haul out their camera and start taking pictures of the hamster. (Maybe it's just me... Does this strike you as just a teeny bit odd?)

- He does not want to hold the hamster when Bekah offers it to him. "I don't know it yet." Um, and how will you get to know it if you don't introduce yourself? He'll just takes a few more pictures, instead. Oh. Maybe he plans to pet them when he gets home?

- They take pictures at random intervals. Never one of myself or Bekah, thank god, but odd things. I came down from the bathroom and caught mom snapping pics out a window that overlooks the drive. The section of the drive that houses a couple of bicycles, the garbage tins, and the gates to our back yard and our neighbour's. (???)

- He was gung-ho to show Bekah a slide-show he'd made of some computer images he'd created. They sat side by side on the couch with Bekah's DVD player (he didn't know there were such things as portable DVD players) as elevator music drifted around the room for four minutes. Later, I discovered that the show was eight pictures, repeated over and over to the background of the elevator music. Eight pictures. In the same order. To elevator music. For four minutes.

- He was also gung-ho to play our piano, because he's been playing for a while now, and he's pretty good. No, he doesn't take lessons. He listens to music, tries to reproduce it, and then "makes it better". In fact, he has a composition he's working on. Would we like to hear it?

- He plays piano like a dying elephant, blundering woodenly about a couple of octaves of the keyboard, deafening all within a 3-metre radius.

- Ours is an electric piano, so I showed him how he could record his composition. He was fascinated by this, and replayed his auditory assault half a dozen times. At full volume. (Does the boy have a hearing problem?)

- And no, he wasn't interested in hearing me play the piano (not that I offered), nor in hearing Bekah play her flute. His mother suggested he might like to listen. No, not today, thanks.

- He admitted that he didn't much like sharing. Mom chortled affectionately at this.

- When the kids said they were hungry, I handed each of them a banana. He looked at his and stuttered, "How do I...?" I looked at him, blank. How does he what? His mother explained, "He's never started one." HE'S THIRTEEN FUCKING YEARS OLD AND HE CAN'T PEEL A BANANA!!!

- Thankfully, he likes the same computer game that is one of Bekah's favourites at the moment, so we were able to survive the last hour of the visit by allowing them computer time. Leaving me with Mom.

- Mom, who bemoaned the changes in the ghastly suburb where they live. "We might have to move out to the country. It's getting so big and busy. It used to be so suburban." Oh. Suburban as a good thing. How... suburban.

- They had to leave by four, because it was Saturday, and she didn't want to drive "after dark with all the drunks". Because lord only knows we city folk are notorious for hammering back the booze at five in the afternoon so as to drive home drunk for dinner...

- The next day, I got an email from mom, thanking me for the visit, and asking if we would please erase his 'composition' from our piano. It's a work in progress, see, and so... (Here's a thought, you nut job: I'll erase his gawdawful noises if you erase all those pictures you took without asking in my house.)

These people are the poster family for "The Risks and Disadvantages of Homeschooling".

He couldn't peel a banana.

My Inner Hero - Wizard!





There are many types of magic, but all require a sharp mind and a cool head. There is no puzzle I can't solve, no problem I can't think my way out of. When you feel confused or uncertain, you can always rely on me to untangle the knots and put everything back in order for you.




A bit more: Above all, you're a mastermind and a great thinker. You see the unknown as territory to be conquered, and the mysterious as something to be systematically unraveled. You don't have time for fools; you only spend your time with people who can comprehend your obfuscatory convolutions. You enjoy amassing knowledge, both useful and trivial.

That's me. A mastermind of bits and bobs of this and that, just because it's fun to know stuff.

How about you? Click here to find your own inner hero.

So, you're driving down the road with one of these on the passenger seat beside you, or worse, the whole rainbow cluster of them. Better hope you're not in Alabama, Georgia, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Indiana, or Virginia...

"No, officer, it's not a vibrator. It's my Banana Guard."

"Yeah, right. I've heard that one before. Out of the car, please, ma'am."

Vibrators illegal? Yes, indeed. Not guns. NEVER! There's a constitutional right to bear arms, you know. Because goodness knows, it's better to be able to kill someone than let them have an orgasm...

Illegal? Illegal?? This means legislators in those states (and in S. Carolina and Tennessee, where such laws are being considered) believe that, somehow or other, sex toys are a threat to society.

-- Well, yes, indeed, little lady. Think of all those innocent children have been killed by dildos!

Now, now, Mr. Misogynist Legislator, please rethink. Remember! "Dildos don't kill people; people do."

Oh, those French!

Disney is not amused.

(Yes, I tried to find it. No luck, but I did discover that there are some seriously twisted Disney fetishists out there. Yeesh. I'd have thought the notion of Mick and Minnie finally getting it on would be enough to wilt the woodiest willie. All that nauseating good humour and the squeaky voices. Does nothing for me. But evidently there are those who think differenty. Very, very differently.

(No, I didn't look. The titles were quite enough.) )

A party a couple of weeks ago. Nothing fancy, a bunch of people milling about and talking, enough liquor to keep the conversation flowing, enough food to keep the stomachs settled.

My friend Sophie hands me some brie on a cracker. "Smell this," she says, "and tell me what it reminds you of."

I take a sniff. It does remind me of something, but what? So familiar, and yet... Maybe some people are better at this, but I've always been awful at identifying odours. But I know I know what that smell is.

And then she told me - and my lord, she's right! That's just what it smells like!

Over to you, irregular readers. What does brie smell like?

Clever, isn't it? Check out the rest of this great blog!

(Oh, and the picture is a link to that post in the blog.)

Hey, check out the Strapless Bras!!

The Secret Language of Sleep - Revealed Here!!

Find your own pose!

Er, no, it's not.

He sweats.

And farts.

'Nuff said.

I receive wonderful news in the mail today!

congratulations!
you qualify for an

instantly slimming
bottom-lifting
tummy flattening

free
sample!

of Shaper Shortz

Such a wealth of opportunity awaits! No panty lines! Smooth silhouette! Judging from the women in the advert, a life of slim, jaunty blond-ness awaits only my sending in of the enclosed form. Then I, too, can leap about in bliss, clad only in a shirt, a pair of Shaper Sortz and stiletto heels.

And just think! All this is mine on the basis of my fat, droopy ass and bulgy belly!

I feel so privileged.

This was an ad that appeared beside one of the messages in my gmail:

$26 Mama Spanx Pantyhose
Free shipping. Great prices on Mama Spanx maternity pantyhose.
www.breakoutbras.com

Now, this is weird on so many levels. The mind reels with questions.

Who wears pantyhose when they don't have to? Who'd go to special trouble to find them at a time in their lives when they had an easy out?

"Of course I'd normally not be so casual for an occasion like this Mr. Important Client, but it's so hard to find pantyhose to fit when you're..."

"As big as a house?"

"Indeed."

Moreover, these pantyhose don't have feet - don't have much below the knee, really - so you can "wear any style shoe." So, if I read this correctly, you can have the pleasure of wearing pantyhose that NO ONE CAN SEE. No one but YOU will ever know you have the uncomfortable, sweaty, constricting items on your person. No one but YOU will ever know how damned awkward the things are to put on when you're 138 months pregnant and a gazillion pounds heavier than normal.

You would do this, why?

Next question:

"MamaSpanx"? Who? Daddy? The kids? The monkey?

And finally:

"Breakout bras?" Is it just me, or isn't that contrary to the whole intent of a bra? The minute my bras start letting the girls break out, they are out of service. Instantly. Well, maybe I wait till I'm home first. Or maybe I just head immediately to La Vie. 'Breakout bras'. I ask ya.

Weird.

Truthiness and Wikiality.

Apparently there is a political satirist*, name of Stephen Colbert, who likes to coin words. He proves his wit and gift with the language on his television show, giftedly and wittily entitled, "The Colbert Report".

(*Which I discovered here. Some people might have discovered this by watching his show. Quite possibly many have. Just not me.)

"Truthiness" and "wikiality" were two recently Colbert-minted words, picked up by the Global Language Monitor.

Quiz: how would you define the terms?
Stop and think about it, now.
.
Truthiness
.
Wikiality
.
.
.
All right, then. Got something?


My guesses:

"'Truthiness'?" I scoffed. "How silly. We have a word for that - truthfulness." A pretentious redundancy, I thought, thus proving I have never watched the clever and witty Mr. Colbert before, because his definition is indeed cleverer and wittier. And I should have seen it in the suffix. Nuts.

On to wikiality.

Wikiality is, obviously, derived from Wikipedia, the on-line encyclopedia compiled by anyone who wants to make a contribution. It has managed to let a couple of suspect bits of "information" out into the ether. Thus, I guessed, its meaning would be something like "information/belief which is easily accessed but of questionable validity/veracity." I was closer, but not as clever.

Okay, are you ready for the Global Language Monitor's definitions of Mr. Colbert's terms?

Truthiness: Truth unencumbered by facts.
Wikiality: Reality as determined by majority vote. (As when astonomers voted Pluto off their list of planets.)

Clever. Maybe I'll watch the show next week.

Chain mail. Don't you just love it? How about those chain letters with supernatural bribery at the end? "Send this to five people in the next five minutes and your wish will come true in 1 day. Send it to ten people in five minutes, and your wish will come true in half an hour."

Pathetic how people fall for this stuff. Everyone knows it's nonsense. Look at me: Even with TWENTY recipients in THREE minutes, my ex is still alive. No lightning, not even a bus, and no big insurance payout for me. See? Arrant nonsense. Why do people succumb?

Today I received a forward in support of a worthy cause. Really, a worthy cause, which is why it will remained unnamed so as not to sully its merits by revealing its tactics.

It was a poem. No, it was a POE-WEM. Ahem. The beloved daughter of an about-to-be-bereaved mother lays bleeding on the pavement, composing for said mother, with her last dying breaths, the most dreadful doggerel going, in which she wonders why other teens didn't heed their mothers' good advice, and so spared her life from its untimely end. Her dying breaths went on for a cruelly long time, given the number of stanzas the poor girl was able to churn out, back of her hand to her pale brow.

It was followed by a petition. We were urged to sign it, then to forward it, and if we didn't?

If you receive this petition and do >nothing but delete it, your
>selfishness knows no bounds.

Because if you can't sway people with maudlin sentiment, then you can always try insults!

Of course I deleted it.

Truly selfish, I know, to spare my friends saccharine Victorian tripe. I hang my head in shame.