New York Sex

I still read the New York Press, just like I read the Duke Chronicle -- so I can pretend that I still know what's going on.

I haven't really been paying attention, but there's been a whole hoo-hah at the Press over editors and owners and publishers or some such. Since I don't actually live in New York anymore and I'm not one of the East Coast Media Elite, I don't care.

I do notice, though, that the new sex columnist, Dr. Dot, is very photo-friendly:

Unfortunately, she's not a very good writer. In fact, she's a horrible writer.

I guess I can understand that, since her original gig is massage therapist to the stars, though she's branched out to sex, love and relationship advice.

(Not to say, of course, that beautiful people can't be talented. There are lots of beautiful, talented people. Oh, how we hate them.)

Contrast that to the previous Press sex columnist, Judy McGuire (a.k.a. Dategirl), who was a good writer, but never seemed to write anything particularly interesting (unless you had an unhealthy fixation on all things Judy McGuire).

I guess Amy Sohn, the original NY Press sex columnist (the Press was relatively late to the chick sex columnist game) was probably the best of the three.

But of course, none of them hold a candle to Dan Savage.

Anyway, back in my day (and by the way, get off my lawn!), we were so scared of talking about sex that we had to get our sex advice over the wireless set from a little old grandma (who could put a bullet in your head from 300 meters, so no funny stuff), Dr. Ruth.

Nowadays, you kids have it easy, with your Internet and your high schoolers having oral sex at high noon in the middle of crowded sidewalks and every college newspaper's female sex columnist ("Ooh, it's a girl! And she talks about how she has S-E-X!") who thinks she's Carrie Bradshaw, bravely tackling the subject of vibrators or rimjobs or whatever in a manner that is completely not trite.

A Pointy-Headed Moment

My boss and I had a meeting yesterday with one of the execs (well, the people of one of the execs), to talk about stuff.

One of those folks there is fairly new to the company, and pretty well-known in his or her own right because of events in the not too distant past.

So, we're winding down talking about our stuff, when my boss asks this person what he or she did before coming to the company.

It was pretty obvious he didn't have a clue who he or she was.

I hope the look on my face didn't give too much away.

When we left the meeting, I told him who he or she was.

He was appropriately chastened and self-flagellating.

I Beg to Differ

Creativity linked to sexual success.

"The study also showed that the average number of sexual partners increased as creative output went up. What the artists produce draws attention to them, which seems to enhance their sexual allure."

I'm Thankful For...

Unsecured wireless networks within range of the parents' homestead.

From Last Week's Party

* There were a lot of cameras at the party. At one particular moment, a camera was passed: "Take our picture!" The recipient (a woman, as it happened) complied, and was about to take a picture, when the subjects said "Turn the camera around!" meaning they wanted the photo oriented portrait-style (vertically) rather than landscape (horizontally).

The photographer then proceded the rotate the camera: 45, 90 (okay), 120 (wait), 180 degrees.

Upside down.

I laughed loudly and rather obnoxiously.

* Overheard: "Flesh-nami"

* I posed the question: Does the "Irish Curse" have anything to do with St. Patrick driving the snakes out of Ireland?

* I learned how to say a bad word in Tongan, but I forget what it was.

Oh. My. God. (Boooooyyyyyyyyyeeeeee!)

Flavor Flav is doing a Miller Lite commerical.

One Million Bottlebags, indeed.

Mashup Etiquette Question

Here's a question about Mashups:

How far can you go to make one song fit with another?

I was listening to a mashup show on my local terrestrial radio establishment; it took me more than a few moments to realize that one of the songs in the mashup was The Knack's My Sharona, only slowed down considerably -- it was practically a dirge.

The other song was some Franz Ferdinand song I don't know very well.

Apparently it's Do You Want My Sharona, by DJ Zebra.

It just seems like a breach of etiquette.

Dude, Just Stop Talking

Update: Got another e-mail from the fellow with gender identity issues:

In that case I blame it on the picture. As it stands, the hair only adds to what amounts to be a very feminine appearance. This is mostly due to the high, prominent cheeckbones and the sarp, well rounded chin.

Of course, upon magnificantion I see the Adam's Apple, so... it's a trap!

So hey, killer look, apologies for the confusion, I did not mean to slight you when writing either e-mail. But hey, without paying attention to detail... I'd hit it!

If I had to guess, I would say that he's a Farker (I guess I should say fellow farker, since I lurk there), because of the "it's a trap" cliche and the "I'd hit it!" (though that's pretty ubiquitous).

Also, I am very uncomfortable right now.

In the words of Heat's Michael Cheritto (played by Tom Sizemore): Stop talking, okay slick?

Rolling a Hard Four

I don't usually publish the content of mails I get, but this one made me laugh. Then I cried a little:

Stumbled across your page (regarding unrequited love) while doing some Shakespeare research. Stumbled on your blog not long there-after. What's confusing me is that, according to your picture, you are a woman and the "Platonic" page was written from an excellent male perspective. What exactly is going on?

This, of course, is Number Four.

A Costco-Benefit Analysis

Went inside Costco for the first time (under my own membership, that is) this afternoon.

Conclusion: As a singleton, I don't consume enough to take advantage of the volume discount on produce and perishables.

I mean, I could buy the stuff, but it would rot -- my freezer isn't big enough.

The prices on the other stuff aren't all that much better. The quantities are just bigger.

I will probably break even for the year, since gas is 10-15 cents cheaper. The photo printing, tires and other services may come in handy, too. But on the core services, probably not.

An Open Letter to the Canoodling Couple at Trader Joes

Dear Canoodling Couple at Trader Joes,

When standing at the refrigerated section (in front of the pre-packaged sushi, wraps, and sandwiches) while making your kissy-faces and talking your baby talk, please adjust your canoodling to accomodate people who are actually trying to shop.

Not being an unreasonable, unromantic, or coldhearted person, I took an extra lap down the chips and nuts aisle and back around the produce section to give you some time, but you were still at it.

I had to hover uncomfortably close before you finally moved down a few yards.

As far as I know, you're still there.

I enjoy the ambiance and atmosphere at Trader Joe's, but come on.

Regards,

Joelogon

Why Con Air Is a Leading Contender for the Worst Movie of All Time

Any reasonable moviegoer will know that Con Air is a horrible, horrible movie.

It's loud and obnoxious, makes no sense, is poorly written with easily avoidable plot holes, and is just outrageously and unapologetically stupid.

But that's not why it's one of the worst movies I can think of.

Now, I'm not a Jerry Bruckheimer hater. He's produced some solid flicks and TV series.

I also don't have much of an opinion of director Simon West.

(Michael Bay, on the other hand, is an abomination. He is a leading reason why I think all people named Bay must be sent away to reeducation camps. Well, him and Jim Bay.)

The reason why it's one of the worst movies I can think of is because it's a phenomenal waste of a stellar cast.

We've got Nicholas Cage. John Malkovich. John Cusack. Steve Buscemi (who is actually pretty good). Ving Rhames. Oh, and Dave Chappelle, Colm Meaney, Mykelti Williamson, & Danny Trejo.

With a cast that good, to be in a movie that retarded, is criminal.

And yeah, I did see it in the theater.

It was only a matinee, fortunately, or else I might have hurt someone (else).

Cable Internet Is Faster

My regional cable monopoly's high-speed internet access division is a lot faster with the disabling of service (via DNS redirect) for outstanding balances than the television side.

Thankfully, there's online and phone bill pay.

Lining My Pockets

I found the blue-handled Benchmade Mini-Griptilian 555 (with the modified sheepsfoot blade and oval opening hole) that I thought I'd lost last Thursday.

I took another look at the ratty thrift store sports jacket I'd worn that night. I'd already checked the pockets that I actually use, but it occured to me that the clip might have hitched a ride on the lining.

The thing about knives with pocket clips (or anything where the clip stays on the outside of the pocket), is that they can snag on seat belts, jackets, etc.

This was especially true because my jean pockets that evening were comparatively shallow.

Anyway, it turns out that that ratty thrift store sports jacket has an additional set of pockets on the inside, below the standard interior pockets.

The clip had snagged on one of those.

Now if I can only find my Shuffle.

Slow Down, You Move Too Fast

Was coming back from a night out in Arlington (or as I like to sometimes put it, Barlington. I'm wacky that way).

We'd started out at Galaxy Hut, which was (somewhat uncharacteristically) chock full of impossibly young hipster hotties, then headed over to Whitlow's (since they had Patron tequila, which was in high demand by certain members of the group).

I took off a little in front of 1 AM, taking my usual route back.

So, I was sitting at the intersection of Lee Highway and North Highland, waiting for the light to change. Which it did.

However, I saw a BMV SUV (I think) zooming up on Lee Highway on my right side. Quite rapidly. I stayed back in the intersection. The BMW ran the red. And when I say ran, I mean really ran -- it wasn't even close.

Now, that's not a good intersection to flout traffic laws, especially at 1 AM, because there's always a cop car in the shopping center parking lot just ahead, as well as another cruiser (don't know if it's manned or not) at the tennis courts by the intersection.

Sure enough, seconds later, a cruiser with lights and sirens pulled over the miscreant, followed by a second unmarked car, as I drove carefully by.

Jenny, I've Got Your Number (Or Not)

Last night, I was out and about, heading over to Dr. Dremo's for the Tuesday night Washington Psychotronic Film Society screening.

I was meeting up with a few folks, so I decided to give my friend Jenny a call.

I knew I had Jenny's number, since I had given it to my sister to possibly meet up in NYC.

Anyway, I dialed up the Jenny on my phone.

I could practically hear the question marks over the phone.

Wrong Jenny.

It took me a few seconds, but I finally realized what happened.

The correct Jenny's number was written on a Post-It in my wallet.

Just Kidding

Lon is under the impression that I call everyone "kid."

Lon is wrong.

Sometimes I call them "slick."

Forked

Grabbed two forks at lunch today.

A knife would have been more useful, though I managed.

The Viagra 1-2-3

Observe the following image, which was embedded in some spam.

I don't usually see these, but I was using a webmail client.

Step 1 is pretty straightforward.

Not sure what's going on in Step 2. It looks like some sort of lat exercise.

In Step 3, it seems fairly obvious that he's getting kneed in the groin by a stripper, possibly due to inappropriate, Viagra-fueled behavior in the strip club.

'Lost': Real Life Version

Recently, I have lost:

* My iPod Shuffle (I'm still hoping that this is merely misplaced.)

* A Petzl TakTikka Headlamp (also should be around the house somewhere.)

* My Benchmade Mini-Griptilian 555 pocketknife, with the blue handle. (This one I'm pretty sure fell out of my shallower-than-normal jeans pocket when I was getting out of my car in a parking lot on Thursday. Which would explain the ignored-at-the-time clattering noise.)

Geekdom: How Much Is Too Much?

I almost went to the Geek Comedy Tour 3000, which I saw in a DCist item.

It was billed as "Comedy that KNOWS Han shot first" and
"Because you actually know which Star Trek films were the really good ones." (The even ones. Including Nemesis, which wasn't that bad.)

Then I realized that I can geek out perfectly well in the privacy of my own home.

When the Canyonero Just Ain't Big Enough

It was in the 70s (that would be degrees F) yesterday, or so they tell me.

I made a spur of the moment decision to ride my bike. This first involved pumping up both tires, which are still pretty much brand-new, but were also pretty flat, since it's been a while since I rode it.

By the time I made it outside to take my token constitutional, it was about an hour from sunset and it had started to get chilly.

Anyway, I rode to Paul's house, which is just about 2.5 miles away.

I was pretty gassed by the time I got there.

I said hi to Paul -- he showed me the latest home improvement project he was working on, and then I had to head back, since I had no lights.

On the way back, I saw this big yellow wheeled thing.

At first I thought I was seeing things out of exhaustion. Then I saw it was a Hummer only much, much stupider.

It was an International CXT, the pickup/SUV that's about as big as you can get without a commercial license:

It had a big CXT sticker in the back window, just in case the driver forgot what kind of behemoth it was he was driving.

I didn't have a camera on me, so I had to use a publicity photo, in case you were under the impression that I was mountain biking in the mountains.

The Shuffle Kerfuffle

I seem to have misplaced my iPod Shuffle.

Best case scenario -- it's buried under something on my table at home.

Worst case scenario -- it's nano time.