On tears and a clown

Nut up, ya wuss.

Okay, so Hillary Clinton got choked up at a campaign event.

ZOMG!!111!!one!!! Hilery Clinton haz emoshuns! She cant be preznit!!!1!!eleven!!!

We all saw this coming, right? As soon as we knew we had a presidential race with a viable female candidate in it, the questions flew about whether she'd be the wobbly little creampuff that it's always been assumed a female president would be. Because women are emotional and illogical. Because they get their periods and feel sad about things. Because a woman who was president during a threat to national security would probably, say, get all scared and mad and invade a country that wasn't even involved just to look tough. (Well, okay, not that one.)

And so Hillary Clinton got into the race and was... not emotional. Robotic, even, some said. Harsh. Tough. "Stoic and sharp-edged." Ice-queen-esque with her pantsuits and her unemotionality. The same stability and strength that would have any male candidate declared Reaganesque was, on her, ball-busting bitchiness, because she's a woman, and women are supposed to be soft and nurturing.

But God forbid she should actually have emotions, John Edwards:

“I think what we need in a commander-in-chief is strength and resolve, and presidential campaigns are tough business, but being president of the United States is also tough business,” Edwards told reporters Laconia, New Hampshire.

Now, Amanda reads that as blatantly sexist. I can see where she'd get that, although several commenters on that thread pointed out that the above comment directly followed his stated desire not to comment on Clinton's emotionality. Still, though, it's a shot, one that he may or may not have taken at a male candidate who displayed passion and frustration when talking about his hopes for the country.

Because that's what it was. A lot of people have characterized it as a lot of different things, including calculated histrionics, but watch the video. "You know, I have so many opportunities for this country. I just don't want to see us fall backwards." Isn't that something we want our presidential candidates to care about? "This is very personal for me. It's not just political, it's not just public. I see what's happening, and we have to reverse it. And some people think elections are a game, they think it's like who's up or who's down. It's about our country, it's about our kids' futures, and it's really about all of us together." Yeah, it is, actually. And if she was tired and a little bit frustrated and her voice cracked when she talked about the stuff that's really important to all of us, can you blame her?

Strength isn't about being unemotional, and toughness doesn't mean not having emotions. I don't think that anyone would call armor-plated steamroller fullback Owen Schmitt weak because, during a moment of elevated emotion, he shed a tear. I suspect that few would think our president any less of a cowboy for welling up at his inauguration, and any demands for a stoic solidity in the face of crisis could be answered with his teary photo op in the Oval Office soon after the 9/11 attacks.



But when a man is overcome with emotion and lets a single, crystalline tear roll slowly down his sooty and battle-scarred cheek, it's handsome and admirable. When a woman, exhausted from intense campaigning and frustrated and worried about the idea that our country is backsliding from its ideals, lets her voice break, just a little, watch out; she's probably about to get her period or something.

Obama is my candidate of choice in the primaries. I'm not voting for Senator Clinton because I disagree with her policies and object to some of the more opportunistic stabs she's made in the direction of the squishy moderate. I'm not not-voting for her because she felt a feeling that any emotionally mature and politically aware person is feeling right now, and I'm not castigating her for expressing that feeling a little bit where people could see her in all of her human indignity. Much better a president who can process his or her emotions, express them, and move on than one who has to sublimate them into violence against thousands of innocent people.

On being one less

Okay, so we can thank the Associated Press for the groundbreaking news that getting a shot hurts sometimes.

Much to the delight of fundies everywhere who think that cervical cancer is the ideal punishment for premarital sex, Gardasil, the HPV vaccine shown to prevent four cancer-causing strains of the virus, has also been shown to hurt going in. Pain!, they cheer. Fainting! And pain! And they have to do it three times! What are we subjecting our daughters to, only to watch them turn around and slut it up without the fear of deadly illness to keep their pants zipped?

Now, I'd say I have a fairly high tolerance for pain. I've got one tattoo and piercings in ears, navel, and nose (and the last one was a bitch, I'll tell you). I donate blood, without major incident, every eight weeks. I once broke a toe while out dancing and didn't even notice for fifteen minutes (although the anesthetic properties of alcohol might have had something to do with that). So it could be argued that my personal anecdotes aren't terribly applicable to this particular situation. But I've had two Gardasil shots now, and they both felt... much like I was getting a shot. There was the poke with the needle, and a little bit of burning when the vaccine went in, and then the injection site was sore for a few hours, and then I went on with my day. It didn't hurt nearly as badly as the tetanus booster and meningitis vaccination I got before my study abroad sophomore year -- painful shots in each arm that left me unable to raise my arms above shoulder level for more than a day, thanks, Doc.

And despite the minor ouchiness of the injection itself, I was much comforted by the thought that it was far less painful than it would be to have parts of my cervix surgically removed. Or undergo chemo and radiation. With my final shot looming at the beginning of February, I can face the pain gladly, knowing that after I get my shot, I reward myself with a cookie, which is far more fun than dying slowly as my uterus turns to goo.

Of course, one side effect of the shot that I've became an absolute whore since. As soon as I left the clinic, I started thinking, “Wow, this newfound feeling of safety leaves me wanting to have sex with every single person I encounter. Like that guy. And that guy over there. And those two guys and that girl.” And the cumulative effect has been even worse. I’m having so much anonymous, unprotected sex these days that I can barely get any work done, and I haven't even had the third shot.

That is, of course, a joke, because vaccinations don't have that effect. After I got my tetanus booster, I didn't run out of the clinic shouting, "Someone bring me a rusty nail! Bring me a great, huge rusty nail and pound it through my foot! I am invincible!" And my hepatitis vaccine certainly didn't give me any urges to patronize seedy-looking tattoo parlors or share needles with Tommy Lee.

But Gardasil, apparently, has the power to turn innocent teenagers into sluts roaming the streets and humping anything that'll stand still long enough. And the injection hurts, like, way bad. And both of those things are worse than death. Better to lose your daughter to tumors that'll spread through her reproductive system and metastasize throughout her body and leave her sterile if they don't kill her in unspeakable agony than to risk her having premarital sex and not getting punished for it. 'Cause getting a shot hurts.

On the good, the bad, and the Friday Random Not-Even-Ten: New Year, New Chance to Screw It Up edition

The best and the worst of international travel (suck it, Air Canada)

Okay, so it was quite the month. Football (my home state of Virginia didn't fare well, I'm afraid, but my other home state of Georgia whupped up), holidays (among my Christmas gifts were a Chris Cooley Redskins jersey, Deluxe Scrabble, and an acre of Guatemalan rainforest), politics (other people go to parties to watch the caucas results come in, right)... But out of a whole month (more than a month, really), what was good and/or bad enough to make the list?

What's good (for the, what, five-week period ending 1/4):
- the overwhelming generosity of my family, for whom I'm unspeakably grateful (Aww...)
- London at Christmastime. That was the big trip, and it was gorgeous, and incredibly cold, and gorgeous, and fun and exciting, and gorgeous. If there's interest, I'll post a few pictures; if there's none, I might post some anyway, because when you have your own blog, you get to do stuff like that.
- shrimp scampi, cheese grits, asparagus, standing rib roast, green beans amandine, sourdough rolls, more cheese grits, pork loin, collard greens, more cheese grits, black-eyed peas, cucumber salad
- inexplicably not waking up ten pounds heavy on January 2 after all of that
- chili on a cold night
- Barack Obama in the Iowa caucases (back off, ladies, I saw him first. Um, except for you, Michelle. Obviously)
- scarf-and-hat weather
- friendly faces at the airport. After the ordeal of my return trip from Toronto (details to follow), as I crested the escalator and turned to haul ass to the baggage claim and start my long drive home, I heard my name... from my dad. He and Mom had driven up from Columbus to meet me at the Atlanta airport simply because they knew I'd been traveling for 42 hours and might appreciate a hug and a nice dinner. Which I did. More than I can possibly express.
- the 2008 Sugar Bowl - Georgia 41, Hawaii 10; Mark Richt, even hotter when he's kind of evil
- a chance to sleep in after a month of busy Saturdays

What's bad:
- 36 hours, showerless, in the Toronto airport during a blizzard. I suspect that that one was equally bad for everyone around me.
- re-entering the dating scene after a breakup
- my cholesterol level after holiday eats (one can safely assume)
- mince pies

I'm going to throw you something a little bit different in this month of newness. Josh has a theory that a Friday Random Ten might have powers to predict the success of the coming weekend. Could a Random Twelve be asked to predict an entire year?

Let's see:

January: Dave Matthews Band, "Pay for What You Get"
February: Shirley Bassey, "The Lady's a Tramp"

Promising...

March: Aqualung, "Something to Believe In"
April: Jeff Buckley, "Hallelujah"

Better...

May: Franz Schubert, "Abschied D957" from Schwanengesang
June: Kula Shaker, "Magic Theatre"
July: Kay Starr, "All By Myself"

Hold on, there.

August: Groove Armada, "Edge Hill"
September: Sarah McLachland, "Angel"
October: N.W.A., "Gangsta Gangsta"

Abort! Abort!

November: Day One, "Bedroom Dancing"
December: Lo Fidelity Allstars, "Will I Get Out of Jail"

Great. See if I do that again.

How about you? It's been a while; what was good and bad for you this season? Your year of random music?

On musical tragedy

Okay, so apparently video game songs don't qualify, because I can tell you for sure that the themes from "Tetris" and "Super Mario Brothers" have the penetrative powers to liquify your brain and ruin your day (and just say the words "Legend of Zelda" around my friend Jacob and wait for him to stop giggling). But the staff at Rolling Stone has done what few music fans have the nerves to do: girded themselves with the fortifying powers of Jack Daniel's and determined the twenty most annoying songs of all time.

To wit:

1. Black Eyed Peas, "My Humps"
2. Los Del Rio, “Macarena”
3. Baha Men, “Who Let The Dogs Out”
4. Celine Dion, “My Heart Will Go On”
5. Nickelback, “Photograph”
6. Lou Bega, “Mambo No. 5″
7. James Blunt, “You’re Beautiful”
8. Spice Girls, “Wannabe”
9. Sisqo, “The Thong Song”
10. Cher, “Believe”
11. Aqua, “Barbie Girl”
12. Chumbawumba, “Tub Thumper”
13. Rednex, “Cotton-Eyed Joe”
14. Eiffel 65, “Blue”
15. Crash Test Dummies, “Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm”
16. Meatloaf, “I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That)”
17. ‘NSYNC, “Bye, Bye, Bye”
18. Ricky Martin, “Livin’ La Vida Loca”
19. Semisonic, “Closing Time”
20. Wham!, “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go”

I will cop to having two of those in my peripheral music collection, which can be excused by the fact that I was young and foolish when I purchased the CDs, and another five on my iPod, which is just inexcusable. Feel free to guess which seven of the twenty I still own; don't count on my confirming or denying anything. Feel free to leave your own Shame Numbers in comments. I promise not to ask.

Well, no, I might ask. I do promise not to care.

On unsexiness

Okay, so People and Cosmo and every other magazine with a significantly female readership love to run "sexiest men of" stories to sell issues full of pictures that will be mauled by adoring fans and words that will go largely unread except by those devoted stalkers who want to know who (insert hot male celebrity here) is dating so they can hate her with a passion.

But what about the men who bring unsexy back?

Lucky for us, the Phoenix has been kind enough to compile the 100 Unsexiest Men of 2007, a comprehensive list of the bad, the tasteless, the ugly, the crazy, and those unfortunate beings who manage to combine more than one of the aforementioned attributes. It'll come as no surprise to my regular readers that I wish I'd written it (I love Peyton Manning to death, and I still wish I was the one who thought to describe him by saying that "it's like someone took Haley Joel Osment and stretched him vertically"), but the greatest measure of hilarity turned out to be unintentional as scores of spotty teenaged girls with emo crushes swarmed the comments section to defend Patrick Stump, Pete Wentz, and Gerard Way from the meanie-moe snark of the Phoenix editorial staff.

The best by far?

who are you to say who's sexy and who isn't? Patrick should not be up here. He is one of the most influential people of our time.

God help us if this is, in fact, the case.

And why dis Pete in the meantime? What have these people EVER done to you? How can you sleep at night, knowing that you have been such a cold hearted person to write a freaking article about who is attractive when children are starving in our world?

From Doug: "There are children starving and a war going on in Iraq . . . so I'm going to get outraged about someone talking smack about Fall Out Boy." Im LOLing at ur prioriteez!11!1!!!one

Did you even know that there is a war going on in Iraq? Did you know that generations are being slaughtered?

Kristin, this time: "No, holy Christ, I had no idea. I take it back. Patrick IS hot. He IS! Go America!"

Probably not, seeing as how you only have the time to look at people, and not really care about what they're doing in this world. I applaud you for being a careless person. POSTED BY fangsup AT 01/01/08 8:59 PM

And fangsup, I applaud you for taking the time to post all of that on the comment section amid a torrent of nearly identical fangirl temper tantrums aimed at an editorial staff who find your squealing outrage hilarious.

If only we could get these kids to vote.

Maybe Patrick Stump could do it. I hear he's way influential.

On my triumphant return: What Maxim won’t tell you about interacting with women

Okay, so I know I’ve been gone a whole month, and that a lot has happened in that time. World leaders have been killed. Primary caucuses approach. Jessica Alba has come up pregnant. Tony Romo has discovered that he can’t play football when there are hot blondes in the stadium. Not to mention the extended holiday period, which has included world travel, relationship shakeups, lots of gifts given and received, and plenty to be thankful for. And what’s my first post of the new year about? Dating.

Not an earth-shaking topic, to be sure, but it’s one that’s recently been at the forefront of my attention. Doug has posted in the past about Nice Guys™ and the errors of their Nice Guy™ ways, and I think it’s a fairly accurate depiction. But having recently been forced, unwillingly, into an evening with one of these poor, misguided souls, I felt the need to clear up a couple of misconceptions that Maxim and similar publications might be spreading about what, precisely, women are looking for in their interactions with men.

This is, of course, by no means intended to be a comprehensive guide, nor is it meant to imply that women are some sort of monolithic hive mind that all think the same way. Yes, there are women out there who are turned on by braggadocio about workout regimens and college bar fights, but that’s kind of the point: Every woman is an individual, not just a member of Group Woman, and should be treated with respect for her individuality and not just items from a punch list.

Lesson the first: Women aren’t impressed by what you say; they’re impressed by what you do. We don’t care about how many reps you do on each muscle group. We don’t care about how badly you kicked the asses of those eight guys who jumped you. Many of us don’t care about how much money you make. We care about what you’re doing while you’re out with us. Are you polite to the waiter? Are you listening to what we say and not just waiting for your turn to talk? Are you paying attention to us, or is your interest wandering around the room? Are you engaged in the moment and your interaction with us, or are you just marking time until you can get us back to your place? Are you dressed like you have somewhere to go, or do you look like your date is just a quick errand you have to run before you hit the gym? Are you treating us with respect, or just treating us like the frat brother you farted on before heading out to pick us up? All of that speaks far louder than anything you actually say to us during the course of the date.

Lesson the second: Whatever you think women want to hear is probably wrong. This goes back to women not being impressed by what you say. When you say, “You’ve got a really nice body,” you probably think you’re giving a compliment, and women like compliments, right? Except you’re working from the assumption that your opinion of her body is paramount in her mind. You’re also saying to her, practically in so many words, that the shape of her body is paramount in your mind. If you absolutely have to comment on her appearance, stick with a simple, “You look lovely.” It’s flattering, complimentary, and vague enough to avoid being creepy.

When you say, “I can bench-press a subcompact car, and I’ve got a perfect twelve-pack,” you probably think that you’re wowing her with your awesome physique, but you’re basically offering a benefit that she can enjoy only when you’re naked. Because of course y’all are going to end up naked, right? Assumptions are never a good way to start out a date.

What can you say to a woman? Dunno; what has she been saying to you? That’s where you get your cues. “Wow, I never would have taken you for a mountain climber. Tell me more about summiting Kilimanjaro?” “What made you decide to become a tax attorney?” “You must have been the smartest contestant in the Miss Magnolia Midlands pageant. What made you decide to stop competing?” Don’t make the mistake of seeing a date as an audition for each other’s company and thinking that, by letting her know she’s gained your approval, you’re putting her at ease. You’re not going into it to gain each other’s approval; you’re going into it to get to know each other and decide if you want to take things further. And the best way to do that is to actual listen to what she’s saying, instead of waiting for her lips to stop moving so you can talk.

Lesson the third: Drink less. Oh. Emm. Gee. If you’re out on a date, particularly in the early stages, with a woman you’re really interested in, you’re probably pretty nervous, and you probably think that a drink or five will loosen you up and help you to be yourself. This is a mistake. The first drink both relaxes you and makes you more likely to reach for the second; by the time you’re reaching for the fourth, you’re well on your way to an imitation of Animal House that is both unflattering to you and unpleasant for her. Trust me that the jokes you’re telling aren’t nearly as clever, the way you’re groping her isn’t nearly as charming, and the hoops you’re making the waitstaff jump through aren’t nearly as funny in her head as they are in yours. Keep it to a single drink, at least until you get to know each other better; you’ll be more likely to remember your evening, and more likely to have an evening worth remembering.

Lesson the fourth: The way you act influences the kind of women who respond to you. How can I explain this without coming across as kind of classist and bitchy? I'm fairly sure I can't and shouldn't even try. Here's the deal: You're looking for someone who more-or-less matches your interests and aspirations; most women are doing the same. To find Your Kind of Woman, you also have to be the kind of man who is attractive to Your Kind of Woman. If your ideal woman is classy and intellectual, you're not going to attract her by acting like a frat boy. If your ideal woman is down-to-earth and unsuperficial, you're not going to attract her with fancy meals and man-jewelry. If you find yourself consistently unsatisfied with the women you date, you need to either change your expectations or start dating a different kind of woman, and if you want to date a different kind of woman, you need to start acting like the kind of guy who can satisfy the kind of woman you’re looking for. If you want to date a Highlands woman, you need to act like a man who can walk into Highlands and order a drink without embarrassing himself. And if, being fully honest with yourself, you realize that you’re just not that kind of man, you need to learn to find the beauty in the kind of woman that responds to you as you are.

Lesson the fifth: Think interaction, not transaction. Like I’ve already said a couple of times, women aren’t some sort of hive mind that all think precisely the same way. There isn’t some formula that’s guaranteed to sweep every woman off of her feet. Some women like having doors opened for them; some don’t. Some women like jazz music; some don’t. Some women like hamburgers and not football, some women like football and not hamburgers, and some women like both. If a woman doesn’t respond positively to your Guaranteed Seduction Technique, that doesn’t mean she’s faulty/bitter/ungrateful/scratched and dented; it just means that she’s not into whatever move you just pulled. The secret is to find out what she is into and give her that. Or find a woman who responds to the moves you already have.

Lesson the five and a halfth: A nonstarter isn’t a failure or a disaster; it’s just a fact of life. No matter how perfect you two might seem together, no matter how well you behave and how well she responds, no matter how well you listen to what she says and how you try to give her what she’s looking for, things just might not work out. Maybe you discover that whatever she’s looking for isn’t something you want to give. Maybe she discovers that whatever she thought she was looking for isn’t what she wants after all. Maybe you discover that you’ve been shooting for Nordstrom women all this time, when what would really make you happy is a Target girl. Maybe every factor is in evidence and perfectly in line and the whole thing is just lacking that chemistry, that spark, that makes the leap from a dinner date to a relationship. It happens. It doesn’t mean that you suck; it doesn’t mean that she does. It just means that you move on and try again with different people. And sure, yeah, if it happens on a regular basis, you might want to try detecting a pattern and looking at the other tips here provided, but if just once, it just doesn’t work out, that’s just a shame. And it’s just something you have to deal with, get over, and move on.

The most important lesson is to find out who you really are and be that. If you force yourself to be someone you aren’t, you’re not going to be happy in the resulting relationship, no matter how well the pieces fit together. And if you allow yourself to be yourself, but continually pursue women who don’t respond to You, you’re not going to be happy, because you’re going to be lonely and convinced that all women are bitches. Manage your behavior and your expectations, be yourself, and realize that dating is absolutely going to suck no matter what you do or how you handle it. So go ahead. Go for it. You’ve really got nothing to lose.

So there’s my highly anticipated return from my blogging hiatus. I’ll hit the high points of politics, travel, social anthropology, and the 2008 Sugar Bowl featuring the Georgia Bulldogs in future posts. Also watch this spot for more Friday randomness. In the meantime, happy holidays, merry Christmas, happy Slovak Independence Day, stastny novy rok, and God bless.

On a proper holiday, and a Not-Even-Friday, Not-Even-Random Ten

It's all good.

Okay, so more than a couple of you have noticed that I've been way, way off my game these past few weeks (or, okay, month). There are a couple of reasons for that. One is that things are getting shuffled around at work and I actually have some to do, which is unusual for this time of year, and it's new and different work that actually requires a little bit of concerted attention. Another of the things is the fact that politics make up a significant part of my blogging volume, and I'm just not all that interested in politics right now; none of the potential presidential candidates from either party really excite me, and a body can only blog so much about the administration's criminal incompetence, Congress's inefficiency and ineffectiveness, and the gradual but inescapable erosion of our constitutional rights before that body notices that things aren't getting better and blogging, shockingly enough, isn't making a difference. Yet another of the things is a series of personal stuff -- not bad stuff; even, arguably, good stuff, but the kind of stuff that takes up a bit of time and attention -- that has demanded my time and attention. And I won't pretend that burnout isn't also a factor; I've been doing this thing for three and a half uninterrupted years, and while I try to keep it fairly fresh and new and interesting, the well is starting to run just the slightest bit dry, in case you hadn't noticed.

In light of all of that, Practically Harmless is going to take a bit of a vacation for the month of December. We're going to kick back, relax, take care of some stuff, take some time to really savor the holiday, and start collecting ideas for blogging in the coming year. There'll be plenty of activities to fill the down time; I've got a big trip planned for the middle of the month, Christmas presents to buy, some knitting to do, and believe it or not, a manuscript that has lain completely neglected for all of three months now. It's all fun and some of it's kind of exciting, and when I return January 1 -- and trust me that I will return January 1 -- it'll be refreshed, renewed, and ready to actually be interesting and post with some regularity.

Obviously, one of the things I've neglected in my negligence is TGTBATFRT for a full two weeks now. But what better time to really consider the good and the bad of it (mostly the good) than Thanksgiving, a time when, as the name indicates, we give thanks? So I'll make up for my prior failings with a big, fat Super Good, Bad, and Friday Random Ten: Now Thank We All Edition.

What's good (for the two-week period ending 11/23):

- My family. Yeah, blah, blah, blah, I'm grateful for my family, but I seriously am. My mom is one of the most genuinely generous, selfless, thoughtful people I've ever met, but she's also one of the coolest; I've never met such a truly nice person with such a... well-rounded sense of humor. My dad can do anything, from healing the sick and teaching residents to woodwork to pancakes to talking a distraught daughter off of a ledge with more insight and understanding than is expected from most men. My brother is a great listener, a source of great advice, the funniest person I've ever met, and not an un-snappy dresser, and he'd chew off his own arm if he heard that you needed one. And we actually enjoy spending time together; going home is never a Tim Allen Holiday Blockbuster chore, because there isn't the nagging or the browbeating or the getting on each other's nerves, because we actually like each other. And, knowing how rare and special that is, I'm grateful.

- My country. Despite our government's best efforts, it's still, in my opinion, the greatest place in the world to live. I'm grateful for a society that recognizes the importance of makes continual strides in the direction of women's equality. I'm grateful for the right -- and the responsibility -- to criticize my government freely. I'm grateful for the freedom to practice my religion as I see fit, and the freedom from anyone else trying to make me practice theirs. And I'm grateful that, when those rights and freedoms and responsibilities are threatened, when someone tries to turn my country into something it's not supposed to be, there are people who'll stand up and say, "Hold on, you don't get to do that. Let's get back on track." There aren't a lot of places on the globe where you really can do that, and there certainly aren't any others that offer all of that and 30 Rock.

- Chunky women in gold lamé:


- Having a reason to go around twice:


- Turkey, gravy, chestnut dressing, sweet potato casserole, cheese grits, green beens amandine, cranberry sauce, sourdough rolls, apple pie, apple crisp, chocolate bourbon pecan pie, chocolate espresso pecan pie, pumpkin cheesecake, and Alka-Seltzer

- The Georgia Bulldogs and Coach Mark Richt

- CoverGirl VolumeExact waterproof mascara -- and friends who keep you laughing so long and so hard on such a regular basis that waterproof mascara becomes a necessity

- Saved-up vacation days

- Rainy mornings when you have time for a cup of tea before work

- December holidays and everything that goes with them: Christmas music, Christmas lights, artificial trees that shed "pine needles" all over your carpet, glittery ornaments that shed glitter all over the "pine needles" all over your carpet, crowded shopping malls, not having to buy anything at those crowded shopping malls because you did all of your shopping online, latkes, my Jewish coworker's indignant children (who might actually start a War on Christmas; they're absolutely adorable), kolacky, the Airing of the Grievances, Feats of Strength, peppermint mochas from Starbucks, spiced-apple-scented candles, carol services, awkward office Christmas parties, relatives who forget how old you are when they buy you presents, overly aggressive Salvation Army bell ringers, all of it. I love it all. I'll take it all, every last awkward or uncomfortable or annoying wonderful bit of it, because I love the season. It's the one season where people at least give lip service to trying to live the lives we're supposed to be living all year round, and if only for that, I say God bless it.


What's bad:

- Plenty, sure. But there's time enough to go into that later.


A Very Special Thanksgiving Ten:

1. Enya, "A Day Without Rain"
2. Les Nubians, "Brothers and Sisters"
3. Michael Bublé, "A Foggy Day (In London Town)"
4. Dave Brubeck, "A Fine Romance"
5. The Cranberries, "Dreams"
6. Pet Shop Boys, "A Different Point of View"
7. 311, "Livin' & Rockin'"
8. Beat Foundation, "My Freedom"
9. Dido, "My Life"
10. The Temptations, "All I Need"

How about you? What's good in your life? That, your Thanksgiving favorites, your Christmas list, your Random Ten, all of it goes in comments.

On the generous gift of pocket tooties

Okay, so I guess if you spend so much time up someone else's ladybusiness, you might be concerned about being crowded out by "personal massagers" and such. I've mentioned before that the Alabama state legislature has outlawed the sale of personal sexual devices except as used in the course of legislation, health care, or law enforcement (the enforcement of which law is still a mystery to me). Well, apparently, such laws are still insufficient, because it would seem that merely selling a Jack Rabbit within shouting distance of an elementary school is enough to corrupt small children for life, leading them into lives of unspecified debauchery via mechanisms that are yet to be identified.

Anyway, the whole thing is a vague travesty -- a travesty! -- and something must be done:

Alabama Attorney General Troy King might ask the Legislature to amend the state's anti-obscenity law after a Jefferson County judge ruled this month that part of the law was too vague to force closure of a Hoover store that sells sexual devices.

…[Circuit Judge Robert Vance Jr.] ruled against the city of Hoover's contention that the Love Stuff store violated a state law prohibiting an "adult-only enterprise" from operating within 1,000 feet of homes, churches, schools, day care centers or other places "frequented by minors."

Vance ruled the law was too vague to enforce because it did not define "adult-only enterprise."

"While Love Stuff clearly sells a number of items that are for adults only, this Court lacks any standards to decide whether it is an `adult-only enterprise,'" wrote Vance, who spent an hour inspecting the store.

Of that hour, Vance spent 45 minutes inspecting the magazines and DVDs in the restricted section and another ten inspecting the crotches of the "sexy" Halloween costumes, now on clearance.

Onetime gubernatorial candidate Loretta Nall, she of the infamous tee-tas, is of the opinion that Troy King would be far more likely to keep his hands off of our personal massagers if he himself had a better-than-passing familiarity with the wonderful world of adult toys. Thus has she launched her campaign to help the poor guy out.

Now, I only have six words to say to AG King about his anti-dildo crusade..FROM MY COLD DEAD FINGERS TROY!!!

I think that Troy may not have any experience with devices used in sexual pleasure, so, I am starting a crusade to introduce Troy King to the fabulous world of ben-wa balls, rubber weiners and pocket tooties. I want to encourage all of my readers to purchase a sex toy of some sort and send it to Alabama Attorney General Troy King. I also think there is something fundamentally wrong with a grown, college educated, elected official who seems to obsess over what other consenting adults in his home state might be using in the privacy of their bedrooms. I mean…don't we have much more serious problems in Alabama that our Attorney General should address?

Follow the link to Loretta's site for more information about where to send those pocket tooties to improve Troy King's quality of life.

On a job worth taking seriously

Okay, so if Tom Cruise and I have one thing in common, it's the fact that we both really hate the glib. (If we have three things in common, the other two are our eyebrow-sweeping bangs and the fact that we both like men.) I make it a personal priority to take myself as unseriously as possible -- there is nothing about me as a person that warrants ulcer-inducing image maintenance -- but I take my work very seriously indeed, because I recognize that a lot of other people depend on me doing my job so that they can do theirs. I show respect for others by taking seriously those things that are important to them.

That's why shit like this pisses me off:



"Gu-huck! Gu-huck! I don't know what's goin' on over there in Iraq. One of the perks of the job, I get to hire other people to know stuff for me. Stuff like what laws regulate arguably undertrained and underdisciplined military contractors we've hired to go on over an' maintain the peace using questionable methods. I don't gotta do my own laundry, either; my job is swell."

Now, I don't expect Bush to be able to name the precise statute of federal or international law that tells us precisely how Blackwater is to be supervised and regulated; that really is minutia that the commander-in-chief has every right to delegate out. But with Blackwater being such a controversial presence in the region, he needs to have some vague idea of who is responsible for keeping them in line, and he needs to respect that that is a very important question. That student didn't use her one opportunity to address the president of the United States to ask that question because the one about his favorite color was already taken; she did it because that was a significant concern to her, and out of respect for her, he should have said, at the very least, "That's a good question, and I don't know the answer to it. But I'm going to consult with my secretary of defense and find an answer for you, because it's important that you and all of the American people understand the methods we're using." Because it's important, and his not knowing is not funny.

Bush is a big fan of laughing at his own ignorance.



"Gu-huck! I don't know nothin' about the economy! I got people to know stuff about that, too. I just keep your taxes low and let some economyologist clean up the mess."

This is the man who told the Deputy Prime Minister of Australia that we are "kicking ass" in Iraq. The man who says that, when he was running for the highest office in the country, he "never really thought about the decision to put men and women in harm's way. I never thought that that would happen." The man who has so much respect for his Secretary of State that he's said, "She's the Ph.D. and I'm the C student, and just look at who's the president and who's the adviser."

"Gu-huck! Maybe you got a Ph.D. and all that, Condi, but you still ain't the president! Ain't it just a hoot that we got a moron in charge of our whole entire country?"

I know I'm not the first to observe that, while Bush does a middling-to-respectable job at scripted events that don't include the word "nuclear," he's absolute crap when let off the leash. Well, here's a tidbit for our president that might improve his skills at extemporaneous speaking: You are the only person amused by your own idiocy. You find it hilarious, and the rest of us are appalled. The rest of us are standing slack-jawed at the flippant yokel who don't know nothin' bout no military contractors/economy/war casualties and don't particularly care none.

Your job isn't just important, Mr. President, it's the most important. You are the leader of the most powerful country in the world and the commander-in-chief of a military at war. Even if you don't particularly care about any of that, we do, and out of respect for us, you need to at least pretend it bothers you that you suck noisily at every aspect of your job. Appear to take it as seriously as we do. Pretend. If you have to stand in front of a mirror for hours upon hours until you've mastered the art of simulated gravitas, then do it, because it's hard enough just knowing you're ignorant and apathetic without having to see reminders of it daily on CNN.

On the good, the bad, and the Friday Random Ten

Idiot kings are only funny when they're fictional

Okay, so after the Florida victory, I said (publicly, if not online) that if we only won one game for the rest of the season, and that game was against Georgia Tech, I'd be a happy camper.

Of course, that wasn't taking into consideration the Through the Looking Glass Season of 1999, in which, despite the Bulldogs' spotty performances and ongoing tendency to play down to the level of our opponents, Georgia could still take the SEC East if we win out the rest of the season and Tennessee gets a loss. It's funny how having nothing to lose can change your outlook on things; I find myself having to swallow my breezy acceptance of a Georgia loss against Auburn this weekend and lining up all of my football superstitions in preparation for a fight. This weekend, I'm going to be in Athens with Doug, watching the game from Tent City, with Jenna, who will be wearing her Georgia sweater, and I'll be wearing my black Georgia t-shirt, which I'd be wearing anyway, because of the superstition, but it works because Geogia is planning to black out the stadium, but I'd be wearing it anyway because of the superstition, and good golly, being a football fan is more exhausting than one might think. I love it, I'm always glad to see football season roll around, but this might be the first year that I'm also glad to see the end of the season.

Too much pressure. Gah.

The good (for the week ending 11/9):
- the Blackberry 8100
- Local coffee shops that know you by sight and start pouring your skim latte before you even get to the counter
- Locomotive breakdancing:

- Monty Python and the Holy Grail screened a la The Rocky Horror Picture Show
- working together to actually accomplish something (Nice work, guys! Now let's see what you can do about stem cell research, reproductive rights, and ENDA)

The bad:
- wife-slapping as a socially redeeming quality (warning: logic-free logic may cause nausea and dizziness)
- suspending constitutional rule in the face of national security threats

The Ten:
1. U2, "Numb"
2. Sarah Brightman, "Nella Fantasia"
3. Johnny Cash, "Highwayman" (with Willie Nelson)
4. Tim McGraw, "It's Your Love" (with Faith Hill)
5. The Temptations, "The Way You Do the Things You Do"
6. Diane Schuur, "Easy to Love"
7. Portishead, "It Could Be Sweet"
8. Siouxsie and the Banshees, "Peek-A-Boo"
9. Jump, Little Children, "All Those Days Are Gone"
10. Diane Schurr, "I Can't Believe You're In Love With Me"

How about you? What's good for you this week?

On the good, the bad, and the Post-Halloween Friday Not-Even-Random Ten

Oh, I can't stay mad atcha.

Okay, so Halloween is my second favorite holiday of the year (absolute favorite? Christmas. Third favorite? Thanksgiving. Fall and winter are awesome for me; spring and summer are a charmless wasteland, holiday-wise). My friend Amanda said that it's great because it's a chance to be someone completely different from yourself, just for one night, and get away with it. I pointed out that for some, it was probably a chance to be exactly who they really were, but pretended not to be 364 days out of the year, and get away with it. Some comedian whose name escapes me pointed out that it's the only day of the year you can walk down the street drenched in blood and no one bats an eye. However you look at it, it's a good day all around.

What's good (for the week ending 11/2):
- leftover Halloween candy
- Manic Panic haircolor in Wildfire
- that cute guy in the nerd glasses and bowtie outside Dave's Wednesday night
- a hot dog from the questionable hot dog vendor when you've had a little too much to drink
- Georgia 42, Florida 30


What's bad:
- leftover Halloween candy
- "moist." Who's with me?

And a very special Halloween Ten:

1. Dirty Vegas, "Ghosts"
2. The Cranberries, "Zombie"
3. Ella Fitzgerald, "Angel Eyes"
4. Addict, "Monster Side"
5. Rob Zombie, "Dragula"
6. Guster, "Demons"
7. Elvis, "(You're the) Devil in Disguise"
8. Dan Bern, "Tiger Woods"
9. Pet Shop Boys, "Vampires"
10. Amy Winehouse, "Rehab"

What was good for you this week? That, and your Ten, and your Halloween tales of debauchery and smashed pumpkins, go below.

On a personal note

Okay, so a big shout goes out to our own commenter Zen Bubba, who, having been issued his dorsal fin and rows of pointy teeth, is now licensed to practice law in the state of Tennessee. Congratulations, Z.B.; if any of your coworkers look like James Spader, be sure to give me a call.

On eliminating back-monkeys in three easy steps

Step one, cut a hole in the box.

Okay, so I'm buzzing, and I have been since about thirty seconds after kickoff Saturday, and I'm hoarse, and it's awesome. I'm not going to pretend to have Zen Bubba's powers of football prediction, but sometimes I get inexplicable feelings (see last year's Auburn game), and something just told me that Doug was going to be streaking Highland Avenue again this week. Even with that feeling, though, I was waiting for one of the classic give-it-up-early-and-then-just-manage-to-pull-it-out last-minute field-goal Forrest-Gump victories that have been irritating my ulcer for the past two seasons.

Luckily, I didn't have to wait for long.

Coach Mark Richt (the undisputed hottest coach in Division IA) knew what he was doing coaching this game. I attribute it to his being the father of four small children. Because we weren't up against a college football team this week; we were up against the boogeyman of 2-and-15, a boogeyman that had psyched us out numerous times in past games. And if anyone knows how to conquer a boogeyman, it's a daddy.

The first thing to do, of course, is to make that boogeyman funny instead of scary. For the Bulldogs, that meant taking this Most Sacred and Hallowed Football Tradition off its pedestal and playing honest-to-God rough-and-tumble football. They didn't need to go out there with the goal of not-losing, which had been their mindset for going on a decade and is always a spiffy tool for self-defeating; they needed to take the field with the singular goal of fucking some shit up, and they didn't know whose shit, and they didn't particularly care. CMR said that they "game-planned energy" as much as they game-planned any of their plays, and it obviously worked. What else worked? CMR's now-famous proclamation that if they didn't get a penalty for excessive celebration after their first score, they were going to run steps. Sure enough, they swarmed the end zone after that first touchdown, Trinton Sturdivant shook it like a Polaroid picture, and Georgia had not one but two penalties and twenty-two-and-a-half yards that put a floppy hat and a flowered mumu on that boogeyman and stuffed him back in the closet. A Florida player later referred to it as "fake juice," manufactured enthusiasm, but if it works, I don't care if it's OJ or Tang. I had a few moments of fear when Florida did appear to get appropriately riled in response and answered with a touchdown of their own, but it soon became apparent that no amount of encouragement from Urban Meyer could make them want this win as much as the Bulldogs did.

Step Two was to put the fear of God into the Gators, and I think Tim Tebow spent enough time on his back, staring up at a sea of red helmets, to attest that we did that quite well. I recognize that the man was playing with a bruised shoulder, and he kept his head in the game admirably well under the circumstances, but by around the fourth nut-sack, he was starting to get twitchier with every snap. Every time he rolled back to pass, he heard footsteps. And even with that kind of constant pressure, he managed to pass for 236 yards and hook up for a total of 343 offensive yards. Dude's a hoss, and I tip my hat to him (and to the Unstoppable Percy Harvin).

Step Three was to pitch a tent in Florida's end zone, set up a hibachi and a satellite dish, and call it claimed territory. Doug points out to all of the "Tebow's shoulder" apologists that Tebow wasn't playing defense, and Tebow's shoulder didn't allow 42 points. A team that has in the past seemed almost phobic of the goal line (that would be ours), that has a recent history of charging manfully down to the red zone and then kicking for three (still us), saw Florida's red zone four times and scored all four times. With touchdowns. (Those are the ones that stay on the ground.) I'm sure Brandon Coutu felt well put-upon every time they pulled him away from his DVD and animal crackers to kick a PAT, because he certainly wasn't kicking field goals and he had probably just gotten comfortable.

In other words, Knowshon "B-Button" Moreno (must credit Practically Harmless) -- redshirt freshman, captain for the game, and all-around badass -- is my babydaddy, and Mo Massaquoi is my backup babydaddy. And fullback -- fullback -- Brannan Southerland is welcome to join the party. My biggest fear as Knowshon crossed the goal line after a nine-play, five-minute, 67-yard drive was that we couldn't possibly keep that kind of energy going for three more quarters, and that I was going to be brokenhearted if we started to slip. Then Florida answered, and then we answered their answer, and then they answered our answer to their answer, and I was convinced that the game was going to end 77-70 and the winner was just going to be whoever got the last TD in. Then they pulled ahead. Then we pulled ahead. Then the game started to get exciting.

A few off-the-field game notes:

- My mom? Magical. Yells, "Sack him!" and they do. Six times.
- Game ball goes to my dad, who, as Doug reports, picked up a spur-of-the-moment impulse-buy monster plasma-screen TV in time for the game. Add this to his recent purchase of a ruby-red Acura TL, and one might have to conclude that, in addition to being a great man, he's also a cool guy.
- Sports-related superstitions are a necessary but onerous burden. Unsure whether to go with my black Georgia t-shirt (undefeated at home) or my red Georgia jersey (undefeated on the road, save for the Tennessee game, which had mitigating superstitious circumstances), I chose to go with both for the neutral site but ended up stripping back down to the t-shirt after Florida's field goal. It appears to have been the wise choice.

One last word on the excessive celebration penalties: One Gator blogger talked about "acting like you've been there before" when you score a TD and said that that joyful display, coupled with the unfortunate jumping-on-the-V incident at Vandy a few weeks back, added up to a "low-rent" team of "excessive celebrators" that was a poor representative of the SEC East. Well, honestly, I'd like to politely invite him and so many of Georgia's other critics to kiss my preternaturally toned pink ass. First off, let me remind the gentle reader that the Vandy-V incident was pretty much the first time Mark Richt had had a facial expression all season, and he used it to chew gaping new ones out of every player involved in said incident in an inspiring and, frankly, not a little bit arousing display of passion and devotion to clean, classy football. Let me also remind the gentle reader that Florida is a team that has never hesitated to run up the score, trash-talk on the field, or shit-talk opposing players and coaches to the press, so pardon me if those protestations of bruised sensibilities ring just a little bit hollow. "Discipline, poise, and class," Terence Moore? You can keep 'em. Saturday, the Bulldogs played like a bunch of high school kids throwing the football around the dirt lot for bragging rights and a Co-Cola after the game, and while it's not something I'd like to see every week, it was so unspeakably refreshing that this week -- and just this week -- I'm doing a Trinton Sturdivant butt-dance around the office myself, and I'll probably keep doing it until it stops being fun, or next Saturday, whichever comes first.

On the good, the bad, and the Friday Random Ten: Twice As Nice (Or, As Applicable, Not Nice) Edition

Okay, so in lieu of delivering a late Friday Random Ten last week, I opted to skip it entirely, which had the dual side effects of depriving you of its Friday Random Goodness and saddling you with a Friday Random Superten this week. Don't you just hate me? Don't you just?

So here it is:

What's good (for the two-week period ending 10/26):
- health insurance for children whose parents can't afford health insurance but don't qualify for Medicaid
- cold, rainy days and warm wool coats
- cocoa and Bailey's Irish Cream
- the Miracle Beer Diet:

Miracle Beer Diet - Click here for another funny movie.

- "out" fictional wizards
- wingnuts peeing themselves over "out" fictional wizards
- this puppy (I want!)
- this puppy (couldn't you just eat those ears? No? Just me? Moving on)
- punk covers of pop songs
- Now poop on them, Oliver!

What's bad:
- having to give the "it's not you, it's me" speech and actually meaning it
- continuing to blame natural disasters on teh gheys
- taking a nap when it's probably not the best time to take a nap:

(A spokesman for Cheney insists that he was merely "meditating.")

- mal-malapropoisms:

Mitt, to make that one fly, you're gonna want to start with the wrong name and then finish with the right one. 'Sides, it was a whole lot funnier when 30 Rock did it.

The Ten (x2, which makes Twenty):

1. Tina Turner, "The Best"
2. Cherry Poppin' Daddies, "Zoot Suit Riot"
3. 311, "Amber"
4. Sarah McLachlan, "Blackbird"
5. Nina Simone, "Black Is the Color of My True Love's Hair"
6. Steve Tyrell, "Smile"
7. Sarah Brightman, "Nella Fantasia"
8. The Thompson Twins, "Doctor! Doctor!"
9. Fuel, "Sunburn"
10. Ella Fitzgerald, "Don't Get Around Much Anymore"
11. John Coltrane, "Equinox"
12. Claude Debussy, "Fireworks"
13. Dave Matthews Band, "Satellite"
14. Coldplay, "Speed of Sound"
15. Berlin, "Take My Breath Away"
16. South Park, "I've Got Something in My Front Pocket for You"
17. Jump, Little Children, "Mother's Eyes"
18. Howie Day, "Sorry So Sorry"
19. Drowning Pool, "The Game"
20. Annie Sellick, "Everything Happens to Me"

Holy crap, that's the last time I'm doing that. What's good for you this week? What was good for you last week? Or did I lose you back at "Now poop on them"?

On information straight from the horse's ass

Okay, so in a staggering display of self-nonawareness, former FEMA director Michael "Heckuvajob" Brown(ie) is offering himself for interviews on the California wildfires. In an even staggeringer display of self-nonawareness-squared, he invokes, in his press release, memories of Hurricane Katrina. On purpose.

Mr. Brown can speak to the turmoil being caused by the California wildfires as well as to some of the new processes in disaster relief efforts that will help to restore California communities. He can offer advice to residents and businesses on proper relief and recovery efforts and provide suggestions for future disaster preparedness.

[…]

Currently, the brush fires are affecting hundreds of local businesses and have forced more than 500,000 people out of their homes. Of these 500,000 people, an estimated 10,000 of them have taken shelter at the local NFL stadium, Qualcomm, vaguely reminiscent of circumstances of Hurricane Katrina evacuees two years ago.

I've got to tell you, though, that that part of the state is prime territory for wildfires, not to mention earthquakes and severe weather. I can't imagine that people weren't aware of that risk when they chose -- chose -- to buy property there. And those 10,000 people taking shelter at Qualcomm Stadium, did they not hear about the encroaching fires? How long has this been in the news? How much time has there been for them to evacuate to safe areas? Were they in denial, or were they just too lazy to get out of there when there was time to move to safer ground?

I've got to tell you, I'm not sure that Malibu really deserves any kind of federal relief funds. People had to have known the dangers of the area when they moved there. And considering the little that southern California contributes to society -- overpaid movie stars, disgusting liberal celebrities who don't know when to keep their mouths shut, the distinct lack of traditional American values that is Hollywood -- I really can't say that that area is worth rebuilding when this is all over.

On the secret life of wizard headmasters

"It's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A... Everybody!"

Okay, so following the publication of her final novel in the Harry Potter series, J.K. Rowling has come out with it and announced that Professor Dumbledore was, in fact, gay.

Some readers may have suspected it. I remember reading through the whole Grindelwald subplot in the seventh book and detecting an undertone -- or not even that, just having the unbidden thought -- of teh ghey, but I figured that if Rowling wasn't going to come out and say anything specific, it must not be a major plot point, and I let it go. So when she came out and actually articulated that Dumbledore was gay, I thought, "Hey, that's kind of cool." Kind of cool because my hunch was correct, and kind of cool because the best way to show the normalcy and basic human-ness of gay people is to present it without comment, to avoid the common stereotype and deliver a character who, like so many actual gay people, is a person first and most of all and a gay person incidentally. And kind of cool because, as a writer, I know how much extensive backstory most writers establish for their characters that never makes it to print, and I love this little tidbit that J.K. Rowling has had in her head the entire time.

Over at Pandagon, Amanda feels differently. She poses the question, "If he is, why didn’t you say so in the first place?" She sees Rowling as kind of weak and wishy-washy for presenting a Potterverse full of straight people who married their high school sweethearts and unmarried adults who have no social life. In her mind, Rowling's reluctance to offer any diversity in terms of lifestyle and sexual orientation is the result of timidity, and that if she wanted Dumbledore to read gay, she should have come right out and written him gay.

I have a couple of arguments with that idea. One is that, as mentioned by several commenters on that post, the books are written from a severly limited third-person perspective; we're basically viewing the world through the eyes of a 13-year-old over the shoulder of Harry Potter. And in the world of your average 13-year-old, the headmaster's sex life tends to be a nonissue. I know that, as a student, I had teachers whose first names I didn't really know, much less their domestic arrangements. If my unmarried seventh-grade social studies teacher was dating on the weekends, I not only didn't know but didn't even think to wonder. I had my own stuff going on, my own social life to attend to. And the books seem to reflect that; the Weasleys are presented as married because that's germane to Ron's life, the Dursleys are married because that's germane to Harry's life, Snape was still pining for Lily because it was a significant plot motivator, and everything else was saving the world from Voldemort and maybe getting a kiss from Cho Chang. If Professor McGonagall was meeting some wizard (or witch, for that matter) in Hogsmeade for butter beer of a Friday evening, I'm fairly sure Harry had other, more pressing, concerns.

I also think that, because the books are so entertaining and interesting to many adults, it's easy to forget that they're actually written for children. Rowling's original intent was to age Harry along with her readers, so that they would be able to follow him through his development and immerse themselves in his experience. While preserving kids from automatic heteronormativity is a nice idea and a worthy goal, it's also a real tightrope walk to present an 11-year-old with an openly gay headmaster and avoid any kind of ideological pandering. If it's not really vital to the character of Dumbledore that he's gay (or doesn't really become so until the seventh book), why adopt the burden of explaining the concept to a fifth-grader and injecting a serious shot of reality into what is, otherwise, a seriously fantastic book? As Harry ages and his readers age, the characters can become more developed and more complex and the plotlines can become more involved and more controversial.

And J.K. Rowling does introduce some element of real-world controversy. Hermione -- the Muggle-born witch with a heartier grasp of Muggle-world social issues -- embraces the cause of the house-elves, fighting for their liberty and equal treatment while many natives to the wizarding world have no concept of them as anything but servants, and both sides of the controversy are examined and revealed as well-meaning, if occasionally mistaken. The idea of "mudbloods," implying supremacy of pureblooded wizards over their Muggle-bred counterparts, certainly has real-world implications. Tonks and Lupin's interspecial relationship raises the question of what people will think and how to hold their heads high in the face of societal judgment, and Tonks's pregnancy raises feminist issues of women-at-home vs. women-in-the-workplace (or even, one could argue, women in combat). And the entire Harry Potter universe is shot through with strong, accomplished women in all levels of education, government, public service, military-equivalent service, and, yes, homemaking.

But to me, the greatest value is, as I mentioned above, that Rowling didn't have to write Dumbledore gay. He didn't bring boyfriends back to Hogwarts. He didn't dress in flamboyant robes. He wasn't effete or swishy (any more than any wizard would be when "swishing and flicking" a wand for purposes of levitation). He wasn't extra-sensitive, he wasn't extra-horny, he didn't have unusually close relationships with any of the female professors at Hogwarts. He was a headmaster, a powerful wizard, a champion of good, a mentor, and a human being -- well, a wizard, anyway -- and that's all J.K. Rowling really had to write about any character.

To delve into Dumbledore's sexuality in an arena, like his job at Hogwarts or his role with the Order of the Phoenix, where sexuality doesn't usually come into play would mean relying on traditional "gay" signifiers to get the point across, and that means turning him into a stereotype. Just as most people, gay or straight, are complex and multifaceted individuals outside of their sexual orientation, Dumbledore was a great many things and a well-developed character, to which his sexual orientation was incidental. Would it have been a great nod to diversity and progressiveness if J.K. Rowling had managed to shoehorn all of that in at once? Sure, if she'd managed to make it seamless and unobtrusive and not distracted from the storyline. If that had been impossible -- or just too much of a challenge to be worth her while -- I'm satisfied with the way she addressed it, I still love the books, and this revelation only makes them richer and more interesting to me.

Besides, Laura Mallory has got to be flipping out right now.

On a very special holiday

Seriously, you don't look a year over 5,984.

Okay, so get out your candles and your party hats, 'cause today is a very important day. It's the earth's birthday, and today good Mother Gaia is turning a whopping 6,011 years old.

She looks great. A little thin around the ice caps, to be honest, and her complexion is a bit smoggier than it once was, but she wears her age well.

Big ups to James Ussher, the Anglican bishop who, in the 1650s, conclusively calculated the exact birth date of the earth and determined that all of those pesky fossils and the whole "carbon-14 dating" scam were just a prank God likes to pull on nonbelievers. Punk'd!

On the yin and yang of dating douchebaggery

Hold tight, Muffin, you may have just met your match.

Okay, so many of you may have read the plight of Craigslist Girl -- and the unflinchingly honest response by a still-anonymous investment banker -- and thought, "That poor, poor girl. All she wants is a man who'll basically exchange money and luxury goods for her sexual consent and fleeting good looks, and look how mean people have been to her! Is there no one out there who can understand her and relate to her as one superficial, self-satisfied asshat to another?"

Craigslist Girl, your prince has come, and he's driving a Beemer. Gloss your lips, hike up your Wonderbra, and head south to meet John Fitzgerald Page,

who in addition to working in corporate finance, being a part-time trainer, and being available for work as a "costumed character" or a "stand-in," also somehow finds the time in his day to be a colossal, mindbogglingly douchey douchebag to girls he meets on Match.com!

But could those two crazy kids really hit it off? Let's introduce them and see.

Craigslist Girl, meet John Fitzgerald Page. John Fitzgerald Page, Craigslist Girl.

Craigslist Girl:
I’m a beautiful (spectacularly beautiful) 25-year-old girl. I’m articulate and classy. I’m not from New York.

John Fitzgerald Page:
I went to an Ivy League school - the University of Pennsylvania - for my undergraduate degree in economics and my graduate degree in management (Wharton School of Business). Where did you go to school?

Now, now, none of that, JFP. Degrees are for ugly girls who can't find rich husbands.

CG:
I’m looking to get married to a guy who makes at least [a] half a million a year. I know how that sounds, but keep in mind that a million a year is middle class in New York City, so I don’t think I’m overreaching at all... I dated a businessman who makes average around 200 - 250K. But that’s where I seem to hit a roadblock. 250,000K won’t get me to Central Park West.

JFP:
I do mergers & acquisitions (corporate finance) for Limited Brands (Bath & Body Works, Victoria's Secret, etc). Enjoy any of our stores/divisions?

See, look at you kids already! He's got the income and the high-end connections, she's got the desire to spend his income and utilize his high-end connections. It's a love match already, right? CG? JFP? Gosh, y'all are just so cute together.

CG:
I know a woman in my yoga class who was married to an investment banker and lives in Tribeca, and she’s not as pretty as I am, nor is she a great genius. So what is she doing right? How do I get to her level?

JFP:
What activities do you currently participate in to stay in shape? I work out 4 times a week at LA Fitness. Do you exercise regularly? I am 6 feet tall, 185 pounds - what about yourself? I am truly sorry if that sounds rude, impolite or even downright crass, but I have been deceived before by inaccurate representations so I prefer someone be upfront and honest on initial contact...

Do you hear that, CG? This here guy's specific. He's been fooled before, so don't try and slide around his rules: No fatties.

CG:
Where do you single rich men hang out? Give me specifics- bars, restaurants, gyms.

JFP:
I live in a 31 story high rise condominium, right in the middle of the Buckhead nightlife district. Do you ever come to this area of town to shop/go out/visit/explore?

Hey, CG, a Buckhead high-rise. It's not Central Park West, sure, but a hottie down from New York By-God City is sure to put those bitchy Buckhead Betties to shame.

Y'all had better make me a bridesmaid, is all I'm saying.

CG:
What are you looking for in a mate? Be honest guys, you won’t hurt my feelings... I’ve seen really “plain Jane” boring types who have nothing to offer married to incredibly wealthy guys. I’ve seen drop dead gorgeous girls in singles bars in the East Village. What’s the story there?

JFP:
Do you have any other recent pictures you care to share? I have many others if you care to see them.

CG:
I wouldn’t be searching for these kind of guys if I wasn’t able to match them — in looks, culture, sophistication, and keeping a nice home and hearth.

JFP:
I think you forgot how this works. You hit on me, and therefore have to impress ME and pass MY criteria and standards - not vice versa.

Come on, now, JFP...

JFP:
6 pictures of just your head and your inability to answer a simple question lets me know one thing. You are not in shape. I am a trainer on the side, in fact, I am heading to the gym in 26 minutes!

John Fitzgerald Page!

CG:
Please hold your insults — I’m putting myself out there in an honest way. Most beautiful women are superficial; at least I’m being up front about it.

JFP:
So next time you meet a guy of my caliber, instead of trying to turn it around, just get to the gym! I will even give you one free training session, so you don't blow it with the next 8.9 on Hot or Not, Ivy League grad, Mensa member, can bench/squat/leg press over 1200 lbs., has had lunch with the secretary of defense, has an MBA from the top school in the country, lives in a Buckhead high rise, drives a Beemer convertible, has been in 14 major motion pictures, was in Jezebel's Best dressed, etc. Oh, that is right, there aren't any more of those!

I'm -- Wow. I just... CG, I am so sorry. I had no idea. I just thought -- I mean, you're superficial, he's superficial; he's obsessed with his money and status, you're obsessed with his money and status... I apologize. You head back up to New York and get a pedicure until you feel better. I'm sure there's some hedge fund manager up there just begging to finance your fall wardrobe.

JFP, you should be ashamed of yourself. No wonder you're stuck looking for women on Match.com. Go to your room.

JFP:
I am heading to the gym in 26 minutes!

No, you aren't, young man, you're going to your room.

See, this is why I'm still single.

On talents of dubious value

Howdy, neighbor.

Okay, so my brother and I were talking the other day about the brazen, broad-daylight stabbing that took place by the fountain near my apartment a couple of week ago. I'd been considering the risks of living in my particular neighborhood (robberies, muggings, drug use and distribution, getting really fat from repeated visits to great restaurants) relative to the benefits (quick walk to work, great neighbors, friends and family nearby, charming apartment, getting really fat from repeated visits to great restaurants).

While that particular issue remains unsolved, it did get me thinking about my talent for finding the best apartments in the worst neighborhoods. My first apartment out of college was a two-bedroom for less than $500 a month. I had wood floors, 15-foot ceilings, 8-foot windows, central heating and air, a gated parking lot, a nice view - it was sweet. It was also literally across the street from the housing projects, all of the neighborhood kids had the gate code so they could come in and use the pool, and the bar two doors down had weekend gunfights that you could set your watch by. But for that kind of charm, I was willing to hit the deck every Saturday night from 11:45 to 11:50.

So there's my questionable talent: finding the most charming apartments with the most lovely views, the most homeless locals, and the most dubious sidewalk pharmaceuticals sales. Question of the week: What unique talent do you have that may or may not prove beneficial to you or others?

On a hardware store - finally - for me

Okay, so, like, OMG, don't you hate it when you walk into Home Depot and all you want is, like, a new set of drill bits and some drywall screws and some 40-grit sandpaper and a few feet of half-inch molding and you can't find a damn thing because there's so much stuff and the aisles are soooo long and the shelves are sooooo high and it's, like, all dirty and manly and smells like sawdust and stuff? Don't you just totally hate it all the way? Wouldn't it be great if, like, they had a bunch of knowldgeable, well-trained associates who know where stuff is and are actually available and easy to track down when you need their help?

Or they could just paint it pink.

WTFever.

On the good, the bad, and the Not-Even-Friday Random Ten: Hella Late edition

One of these is a great way to spend a weekend.

Okay, so I know it's been noticed by at least one reader (which, of course, assumes that I have more than just the one) that I haven't posted all damn week. Yeah, I picked up on that, too. On Monday, I was coming down from the most depressing football weekend in probably a couple of seasons at least - and, yeah, that includes Homecoming last year - and was pretty sure that anything I'd post would violate Blogger's terms of use. On Tuesday, I was fighting work battles, having semi-profane, angry-type, hiss-whispered discussions with coworkers over whether we were actually going to allow Dubya-esque non-grammar into our products. On Wednesday, I was bored and lazy; Thursday was taken up by the mandatory fun of an office luau; Friday was an impromptu day off that I didn't want to interrupt with anything resembling work.

So, to recap: I'm a really lazy person.

Regardless, there were good and bad things about the week. And the weekend, too, for that matter, but in the name of continuity, I'm going to stick with

What's good (for the week ending 10/12/07):
- the almost illicit thrill of running around doing fun errands and self-entertaining while everyone else is at work
- seasonally crisp, cool, sunny fall weather
- soft, fuzzy fleece jackets
- the hot food bar at Whole Foods
- Regina Spektor

What's bad:
- greedy people who take up all three washers at the same time - the laundry room is on the first floor because it's for use by the entire building; if it were your personal laundry room, it's be in your apartment
- just... blearghh

The Ten:

1. Wolfsheim, "Sparrow and Nightingales"
2. Franz Schubert, "Herbst" from Schwanengesang
3. Gioachino Rossini, "O salutaris hostia" from Petite messe solennelle
4. Original Broadway cast of Avenue Q, "I'm Not Wearing Underwear Today"
5. Incubus, "Drive"
6. Cake, "Open Book"
7. The Isely Brothers, "This Old Heart of Mine (Is Weak for You)"
8. Ella Fitgerald, "Slap That Bass"
9. Biter MC, "Outta My Mind"
10. Serge Gainsbourg, "Chez Les Yé-Yé"

What about you? What's good for you this week? What went on with you while I was being so very negligent?

On the good, the bad, and the Friday Random Ten

One of these guys has it all figured out.

Okay, so you know what's the worst thing about sick days? Being sick. The more I think about it, the more I wish I'd just gone ahead and gone to work yesterday and taken my sick day today, when I felt better.

So, that was kind of bad.

What's good (for the week ending 10/5/07):
- The brilliant things Martha Stewart can do with gingerbread and purple m&ms
- Thoughtful people who drop by with chicken soup, Car & Driver, coconut cake from Chez Fonfon, and Knocked Up on DVD to see you through your infirmity
- Knocked Up on DVD
- Laying 45 points on Ole Miss, even if we had to fight for it
- The installation of Bishop Robert Baker (but come on, al.com, no shots of the choir?)

What's bad:
- Security guard brutality
- Nice Guys™

The Ten:
1. Archie Shepp, "Blues for Brother George Jackson (Mondo Grosso Next Wave Mix)"
2. The Police, "King of Pain"
3. Travis, "Side"
4. Moby, "James Bond Theme (Moby Re-version)"
5. James Brown, "Get Up (I Feel Like Being a) Sex Machine (Part 1 & Part 2)"
6. The Beatles, "Lady Madonna"
7. Jump, Little Children, "All Those Days Are Gone"
8. Jem, "They"
9. Sarah Brightman, "Eden"
10. Saliva, "Bleed for Me"

What about you? What's good for you this week?

On political indecision

Okay, so as we approach Election 2008, are you confused by the issues? Unsure about the stances of the various candidates? Just plain too lazy to make a decision on your own? Try the Select a Candidate Quiz.

Caveat: Results may be... odd.

	Dennis Kucinich Score: 51	Agree Immigration Taxes Stem-Cell Research Health Care Abortion Line-Item Veto Energy Marriage Death Penalty	Disagree Iraq Social Security
-- Take the Quiz! --

YMMV.

On being Nice™

Okay, so it seems to be Nice Guy™ week; everybody's got something to say about it, and a lot of them have good things to say.

And for the record, a Nice Guy™ isn't the same thing as a nice guy. A nice guy is one who takes you to a movie you'll both like, pays (or goes Dutch) as you feel comfortable, dresses like he thinks your date is something more important than the average trip to the gym, holds up his end of the conversation with minimal profanity (unless you're into that), and probably goes in for the kiss at the end but definitely doesn't pressure you if you're not really feeling it.

If you've ever found yourself saying, "I'm a nice guy! Why can't I get a girl? Why can all the jerks and assholes get girlfriends and I can't? I'm just not going to bother anymore. Women, if I don't open any more doors for you, you've brought it on yourself!" you're not a nice guy. You're a Nice Guy™.

Josh is a Nice Guy™.

Josh is a Nice Guy™ because he is frustrated that his unceasing campaign to open every door, pull out every chair, and pay for every meal has not resulted, formulaicly, in women giving up the poontang every time. He warns the women of USC that if they don't start rewarding him for his efforts with sex, he's going to stop doing it. And if they don't get any more doors opened for them, they've brought it on themselves, etc., etc.

Who has analyzed this phenomenon in a way I find insanely accurate? Believe it or not, Doug over at Hey Jenny Slater, an admitted recovering Nice Guy™ and thus a pretty decent source of insight.

Josh, apparently, wants to hold doors for women. He wants to buy them dinner and pay for their movies. And I'm guessing he wants to have a committed, monogamous relationship with one of them. Which is fine; some women out there want that too. A male who wants those things is a traditionalist but not automatically an asshole.

Josh, however, thinks that every woman out there wants that, or should. His views on male-female relationships are like the gender-role remix of every shitty, derivative comic you've ever seen on "Def Comedy Jam": Men are like this, women are like this. Josh wants to hold doors and pay for dinner and treat his women like princesses, therefore that means all women should want to have doors held and dinner paid for and be treated like princesses. And anyone who doesn't is a Feminazi or a harlot. (Yes, he actually uses those words.)

Boy, howdy.

And that's the thing: The difference between a nice guy and a Nice Guy™ is that nice guys genuinely like women. They see them as human beings with personalities that are fun to explore and interests that are fun to share. They don't see them as computers that are fun to decode to gain access to the aforementioned poontang.

So many problems in life come down to an issue of pattern recognition. If you find yourself doing the same thing over and over again with different women and never getting the hoped-for reaction, look for the constant in that equation - hint, it's not the women - and figure out what needs to be changed. And that's really where the n/ice guy and the Nice Guy™ part ways. The nice guy wants to do what'll make his partner happy, so he's going to be looking to that. The Nice Guy™ want his partner to respond positively to what he's doing, and he's going to be pissed off and combative if she doesn't.

In his post, Doug recounts (with my permission) the story of my engagement to a Nice Guy™. I didn't know he was a Nice Guy™ then and didn't, actually, even recognize him as such until I read Doug's post. All I knew was that I really couldn't complain about the things he was doing, since they were, by definition, Nice™, but they weren't the things that I wanted. That's a lot of pressure on a woman for a lot of reasons, and there's not a lot of sympathy out there for a woman who complains when her fiance buys her a TV and a great big diamond ring and visits and rubs her feet and takes her out to fancy dinners.

I'll let Doug wrap it up for me.

If you don't have anything deeper than door-holding or check-picking-up to offer, it's time to go back into the locker room and draw up some new plays. Sack up, Josh Bass, and ask a girl out instead of waiting for her to notice and appreciate your chivalrous awesomeness and then writing whiny, bitter columns when she doesn't. If you do go out with her, listen to what she says and find something more than just blond hair and a pair of tits to appreciate about her; don't just go into it thinking HOLD DOORS BUY PRESENTS ROBBLE ROBBLE as if that's all any woman has ever wanted since the beginning of time. And, as Kenneth the page said on "30 Rock," work that vajayjay.

That last one, of course, is key.

On the unseen threats of tampons and cake

Okay, so I've made no secret of the fact that I'm not crazy about kids. It's nothing against them personally; we just don't have a lot in common, and given the choice, I'd rather hang around people my own age. But not being crazy about kids doesn't mean that I actively dislike them and enjoy seeing their rights curtailed and even taken away entirely, which is way all of this stuff really sets my teeth on edge:



If you're a woman and you've been to high school, you probably remember the contortions involved in sneaking up to the teacher's desk, whispering your urgent need, and making it all the way to the ladies' room without anyone seeing the tampon and/or pad in your hand, because God forbid anyone (read: boys) should find out that you're menstruating. Purses obviously make this process far easier. A high school in New York is finding that it's strict "no bags" policy is making that process far harder, and has handled it in a fairly idiotic way. Girls are allowed to carry purses - when they're getting their periods. It's bad enough that these bags turn into small, Louis-Vuitton-knockoff beacons of nascent fertility when girls are only allowed to carry them one particular week out of the month, but it also leaves the school vulnerable to exchanges like this one:

The girl was called out of class by a security guard during a school sweep last week to make sure no kids had backpacks or other banned bags.

Samantha Martin had a small purse with her that day.

That’s why the security guard, ex-Monticello cop Mike Bunce, asked her The Question.

She says he told her she couldn’t have a purse unless she had her period. Then he asked, “Do you have your period?”

Samantha was mortified.

She says she thought, “Oh, my God. Get away from me.” But instead of answering, she just walked back into class.

At home, she cried, and told her mother what happened.

I am not, let me assure you, going to tell some skeezy security guard whether or not I am bleeding from my ladyparts. That's none of his damn business. As an adult, I'd probably give him an uncensored, unequivocal, and well-deserved what-for just for asking; as a far less poised and self-assured teenager, I probably would have dissolved into tears on the spot, putting Samantha Martin one up on me.

In an unusual show of teenage solidarity, girls and boys at the school have been protesting by wearing tampons and maxi pads on their clothing and carrying purses made from tampon boxes.

After hearing that someone might have been suspended for the protest, freshman Hannah Lindquist, 14, went to talk to Worden. She wore her protest necklace, an OB tampon box on a piece of yarn. She said Worden confiscated it, talked to her about the code of conduct and the backpack rule — and told her she was now "part of the problem.

That's right. If your school officials are inquiring into the intimate details of your intimate bodily crevices, and you object to that, you're the problem.

But it gets worse.


A high-school student drops a piece of birthday cake on the cafeteria floor. The security guard orders her to clean it up and, when her cleanup efforts aren't to his satisfaction, he tackles her, breaking her wrist, handcuffs her, and calls her racist names. She's later charged with battery and littering. A kid who captured the incident on his cell phone was also arrested, as was the girl's mother when she went to the school to protest her daughter's treatment.

In the first example, the girls' privacy was violated; in the second, her physical integrity was violated. And for what? Backpacks and a dropped piece of cake? I remember, in high school, throwing the "Nazi" word around in reference to our fairly strict administrators, but that was before students were actually tackled and arrested for such sins as dropping cake.

Students in high school don't enjoy a lot of the rights that other people are assured. This is accepted because schools have an interest in maintaining order and discipline by regulating dress, speech, etc., and because minors are seen as needing guidance by adults in learning how to responsibly exercise the rights they'll freely enjoy when they reach majority. But having curtailed rights doesn't make a person any less human or give them any less right to basic human treatment.

This puts adults in a position of outrageous authority, and with authority comes the responsibility not to abuse it. Those adults, school administrators and particularly the security guards now so common in this post-Columbine era, are increasingly ignoring that responsibility and using "those disrespectful kids" and the threat of student violence to lock doors, ban bookbags, shorten lunch periods, regulate speech, interrogate students, and now resort to physical violence to maintain order and discipline. Wonder how that's working out.

Schools have the responsibility, above and beyond basic standards for test-taking and information absorption, to prepare students for the requirements of adulthood. High-school students are given more personal responsibilities and less guidance than, say, elementary-school students because, older and more experienced, high-school students are expected to have developed maturity to guide them through their studies and activities. High-school students don't have homework sheets to be signed by their parents, guided study time with teachers hovering over shoulders, dictated class and scheduling choices, or enforced naps, because high-school students are practically adults and it's expected that they should be able to remember their homework, study, pick their classes, and get sufficient sleep on their own.

So which is it, administrators? Are high-school students growing young men and women learning to live up to the requirements of adulthood? Or are they children who can't be trusted to carry a backpack without endangering their fellow students? Or are they prisoners in a camp where failing to follow instructions gets your arm broken for you? Try to get back to me by the time I have kids; I may just want to homeschool.