Balls and Walnuts
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Anyone up for live blogging?
I’ll shoot for 7 PM, as usual.
Meanwhile, I’m editing, and I hope to make a dent on my latest Tangent assignment.
Editing. Yuck. I’m in one of those moods where nothing seems to flow, nothing looks good. Blech.
D.
Busy boy
I got home from the grocery store at 3 PM. It’s 8 PM right now, and we’re just finishing dinner. Do the math.
I go nuts sometimes. I’m not sure why. But the List of Accomplishments runs as follows:
Dinner tonight: I made a pecan-based fesenjan with chicken thighs, a dish with lamb and eggplant, and crispy rice. For dessert: chocolate tiramisu.
I also set up some cucumbers for Erin O’Brien’s Hungarian Cucumber salad, thinly sliced beef for Carne Asada, and more thinly sliced beef for bulgogi. Along with tonight’s leftovers, that should take care of dinner for the next few nights.
Time to finish cleaning up. *Big sigh*
D.
P.S.: Ever wonder what would happen if you searched YouTube for ‘anal’?
Funny stuff . . . I promise.
The firewall reading room
This morning, I’ve been hanging out at Jurassic Pork’s place, catching up on my New York Times firewalled columns. He has posted a couple of tasty Maureen Dowd columns, and a fine Paul Krugman column, too.
My favorite bit from Maureen Dowd, neatly summarizing why the Repugs got their butts kicked:
Republicans were oddly oblivious to the fact that they had turned into a Thomas Nast cartoon: an unappetizing tableau of bloated, corrupt, dissembling, feckless white hacks who were leaving kids unprotected. Tom DeLay and Bob Ney sneaking out of Congress with dollar bills flying out of their pockets. Denny Hastert playing Cardinal Bernard Law, shielding Mark Foley. Rummy, cocky and obtuse as he presided over an imploding Iraq, while failing to give young men and women in the military the armor, support and strategy they needed to come home safely. Dick Cheney, vowing bullheadedly to move “full speed ahead†on Iraq no matter what the voters decided. W. frantically yelling about how Democrats would let the terrorists win, when his lame-brained policies had spawned more terrorists.
She concludes with ruminations about the victory of estrogen-powered politics over testosterone-fueled blundering:
Because of the power of female consumers, some marketing experts predict we will end up a matriarchy. This year, women also flexed their muscle at the polls, transformed into electoral Furies by the administration’s stubborn course in Iraq.
On Tuesday, 51 percent of the voters were women, and 55 percent of women voted for the Democratic candidate. It was a revival of the style of Bill Clinton, dubbed our first female president, who knitted together a winning coalition of independents, moderates and suburbanites.
According to The Times’s exit polls, women were more likely than men to want some or all of the troops to be withdrawn from Iraq now, and 64 percent of women said that the war in Iraq has not improved U.S. security.
The Senate has a new high of 16 women and the House has a new high of at least 70, with a few races outstanding. Hillary’s big win will strengthen her presidential tentacles.
I’m still nervous about Hillary Clinton. Her “I have bigger balls than the rest of you dorks combined” style rubs me the wrong way. Also, I have the feeling political expediency tops her list of priorities. Why do some people like her so much? I don’t get it.
D.
Finally
Re: La Gabaldon’s sex scenes. Finally, on page 436, she ceases to be anemic:
He spread my thighs with his knee and sheathed himself to the root in a single thrust that made me gasp. He made a sound that was almost a groan, and gripped me tighter.
. . .
“Aye, I mean to use ye hard, my Sassenach,” he whispered. “I want to own you, to possess you, body and soul.” I struggled slightly and he pressed me down, hammering me, a solid, inexorable pounding that reached my womb with each stroke.
If I hadn’t seen the photo of La Gabaldon on the inside back cover, I’d have sworn a man wrote this passage. It’s so, so hormonal. Root-sheathing? Womb-pounding?
Ow. I don’t even have a womb, but I can imagine. OW. Dammit, Jamie, you could knock an ovary fucking Claire like that.
I wish I had more for y’all, but that passage left me in a post-coital stupor. So let’s open it up to discussion:
Does your feline prefer to be coddled with slow, gentle strokes, or would she rather be pounded senseless by some git in a tartan? Or perhaps she’d prefer to curl herself around a Hitachi Magic Wand.
Oops. No AC current in the 17th Century. Sorry, Claire.
D.
Thirteen abused drugs
My my my I’ve been quiet this week. Comes from spending all my time at Daily Kos.
It’s been a while since I did a medical thirteen. As always, going into this I wonder: can I think up thirteen interesting drugs? Sure I can. People put all kinds of narsty sheeit into their bodies.
1. Thyroid hormone. What can be wrong with increasing the rate with which you burn fat and carbs? Thyroid hormone would seem to be an ideal diet drug. Hey — it’s natural! Shame about the risk of dying.
This is an axolotl. Axolotls have something interesting in common with humans: we’re both products of neoteny, i.e., arrested development. We humans are baby chimps — hairless (some of us) and big-headed (some more than others), while axolotls are salamanders who haven’t made it through metamorphosis. But if you add thyroid hormone to an axolotl’s water, he’ll complete metamorphosis and turn into an adult form that has no business walking the earth.
Sometimes I wonder if there’s a similar drug for humans, one which will allow us to complete our metamorphosis and become Neanderthals once again.
2. Banana peels, AKA Mellow Yellow, AKA bananadine: conclusive proof that kids will smoke or swallow anything. No, I never tried this, although I did eat some dried button mushrooms thinking I was eating shrooms. I guess they really were shrooms, too, of a sort. Anyway, Mellow Yellow is an urban legend. Wikipedia has the full scoop.
3. Pemoline. I love the trade name: Cylert. Makes my heart race just to hear it. Pemoline was used by British pilots during WWII to stay awake, and nowadays, folks sometimes still use it for ADD, narcolepsy, or fatigue syndromes. Case reports of liver damage serve as abuser buzz-kills, so watch out.
4. Amanita muscaria, or fly agaric, has a long and fascinating connection with the history of religion. Here are some good bits from the Wikipedia article:
“Amanita muscaria is widely thought to be the Soma talked about in Rig Veda of India,[15] and is less often also thought to be the amrita talked about in Buddhist scriptures.[18]
“John Marco Allegro argues in The Sacred Mushroom and the Cross that the Christian religion is derived from a sex and psychedelic mushroom cult.[19]
“Ethnobotanist and ethnomycologist Giorgio Samorini suggests in his book “Animals and Psychedelics” a symbiotic relationship between toads, flies and fly agaric. Flies, after a lick of Amanita Muscaria become inebriated and delirious prey for hungry toads that may have learned this, therefore hanging out around toadstools.”
Dig the frog!
5. Nasal decongestant sprays like Afrin or Neosynephrine have addiction potential. How does your nose get hooked on sprays? If you use it for too many days in a row, you develop rebound swelling after the initial decongestion. This causes congestion, which prompts some people to use more of the spray. I’ve had patients who go through a bottle a day.
Here’s your public service message for the day: read the damned label and follow directions.
6. THC, the active ingredient of marijuana, for those of you who like the effects but hate the smoke (and are too lazy to bake brownies). Doctors prescribe THC for its painkilling and nausea-suppressing properties. Does anyone abuse this stuff? Hard to believe. All I know is, THC turned my sober Vulcan wife into a giggling Valley girl. I was very disturbed.
My favorite marijuana story (stop me if I’ve told this one):
In med school, I had a patient with Peutz-Jeghers syndrome who chainsmoked joints and was convinced the freckles on her lips were all throughout her GI tract and were showing up on her stools, too. She used to bring in a photo album of her stools to prove it to her doctors.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’m just the med student. But thanks for sharing.”
7. Poppers. They sound fun, don’t they?
“Hey, Bob, what’s that you’re using?”
“Poppers, Dick.”
“Poppers? Can I have some, too?”
Amyl nitrite and related nitrites relax smooth muscle, thus making anal or vaginal penetration easier, and may decrease the gag reflex, too. The blood pressure drop can enhance the euphoria of orgasm.
8. Ying Yang Huo, another fun one, AKA horny goat weed. According to this questionable-looking site, horny goat weed contains an acetylcholinesterase inhibitor (like ant poison — sounds good so far!) Somehow, that’s supposed to prolong erections. Hmm.
By the way, while we’re on the topic of goat sex: if someone gives you a link that looks like “goatse.cx”, don’t click on it.
9. Diuretics. Diuretic abuse? You’re kidding me, right? No, apparently some folks with eating disorders use diuretics to peel off a few extra pounds.
I’ve heard of body builders doing this before a competition, and of course there’s a long history of diuretic abuse in horse racing (ever hear the expression, “he peed like a racehorse”?) But anorexics? Yikes.
10. Nutmeg. Another weird hallucinogen. Nutmeg derives its properties from Myristicin A, which “causes symptoms similar to atropine poisoning: flushing of skin, tachycardia, absence of salivation, and excitation of the central nervous system.” And if that’s not enough to get you interested, how about this firsthand account?
At first she felt no effect, but after four hours she felt cold and shivery. Six to eight hours later she was vomiting severely. She saw faces and the room appeared distorted, with flashing lights and loud music. She felt a different person and everything seemed unreal. Time appeared to stand still. She felt vibrations and twitches in her limbs. When she shut her eyes she saw lights, black creatures, red eyes and felt sucked into the ground.
Sounds like a blast! Not.
11. Morning Glory seeds. In case you haven’t guessed yet, hallucinogens fascinate me. Morning Glory seeds contain lysergic acid amides, thus making them about the closest thing in nature to LSD. According to this source, you would have to ingest 100 to 300 seeds to get the equivalent high of 200 to 300 micrograms of LSD. But don’t do it with store-bought seeds, since these are covered with poison to discourage abuse!
That really tickles me for some reason. What’s the message here, if not, We’re so anxious about you abusing this drug, we would rather kill you instead?
12. L’Absinthe. No, this wormwood liquour does not cause hallucinations nor madness, even if you are a Parisian poet or artist. But isn’t it pretty to think so?
13. Viagra, sometimes combined with Ecstasy (MDMA) to form Sextasy (no, I’m not making this up) is now so commonly abused that Viagra addicts have their own AA. Signs of viagraholism include Viagra-seeking behavior and escalating Viagra use. But more fascinating still is alprostadil abuse. Alprostadil is shoved into the urethra or injected directly into the corpora cavernosa. The incidence of penile fibrosis (Peyronie’s disease) with repeated use is around 8%, priapism (often requiring needle aspiration of trapped blood) around 4%. Proving, I think, that some guys will do anything for a boner.
Leave a rude comment and I’ll give you some linky lurve.
Darla’s CFS is kicking her butt. Go give her some love.
Miranda: yet another Canadian visits my blog
SxKitten dreams of Christopher Walken with his clothes on (I think)
Noxcat puts the blame where it belongs
Dean gets all historical on us (with a grin)
Protected Static has teh good taste in tunes 😉
D.
Woo effin hoo!
I’m between cases at the moment.
Our general surgeon is predicting that my taxes will go up 20% under the new Democratically controlled Congress. To which I say: Yeah, baby! Bring it on!
I don’t believe it for a moment (the Dems aren’t so stupid as to trash their hard-fought victory by giving the Repugs fodder for ’08), but even if it were true, it would be a small price to pay for this victory.
We did it!
I am so happy my fears of stolen elections didn’t pan out, but we still need to be vigilant regarding recount shenanigans in Montana and Virginia.Â
D.
Nailbiters
Here in the States, we’re having, arguably, the most important midterm election of my lifetime. Given what this may mean at home for the next two years, and given how thoroughly the US can screw up the rest of the world, I don’t think it’s an overstatement to say this election has profound international significance.
Closer to home, my friend has her operation scheduled for tomorrow. I wish I could be one of those prayer people, or one of those “beam positive thoughts” people, but I can’t. (Or at least, I won’t admit it.) I know how much depends on my friend and her surgeon.
More than ever, I wish I could be Samantha Stevens.
D.
New frog species discovered
From Time South Pacific, Croak Addiction:
After an hour’s searching, Richards and his companion, a local hunter, found the source: a “warty brown blob” squatting on moss in a patch of nettles. When he reached over and gently took hold of the blob, it twisted viciously in a very unfroglike manner and bit him on the hand. “I was shocked,” he says. “Frogs don’t normally bite you. There’s only one other frog in P.N.G. that does that.” The animal’s bite, coupled with its unique cry and strange appearance, told Richards he had snared a place in the zoological textbooks with the discovery of a new species.
They have a picture of the warty brown blog as well as two other handsome devils: one they’ve named after Sauron, and a beautiful, pebbly, blue bugger.
As for the rarity of biting frogs: hmm. All I can say is, this guy hasn’t kept many pet frogs. The Argentinian Horned frog, aka “Pac Man frog” since its mouth extends posteriorly much farther than a mouth should ever extend, will gobble up anything that wiggles in front of its face.
My big toe, for example.
Don’t ask.
D.
What do women want?
So I figured I’d better write a Smart Bitches Day post or Miss Beth will forget all about me. So here goes.
What do women want?
Ruminations apropos of Outlander
How many of y’all have recommended Outlander to me? And how many have told me how very very much they loooooove Jamie? I’ve lost track. And while I am not in the dating game, I’m still not so dead between the legs as to not obsess over What Women Want.
Trouble is, I’m clueless. I still don’t understand what you gals see in Hugh Jackman, and despite the Paul Newman fans who responded to this old post, in my own informal polling, Robert Redford still has Newman beat 2:1, much to my consternation. What is it about Redford? He’s so . . . so . . . so corrugated.
Growing up, I soon figured out that women wanted guys who were taller, meaner, scummier, taller, and taller than me. In that order. I kept wondering, Why do women fall for scum? but I should have been asking, Why am I attracted to women who fall for scum?
But then I graduated Elementary School and everything changed.
Back to Outlander. (Can you tell this is not going to be one of my more coherent SBDs?) Um . . .
SPOILERS
Which is kind of a ridiculous warning considering how many of you have committed this book to memory. NO, I am not going to trash your precious Outlander. I’m enjoying it. Really, I am. Even if I can’t tell when the characters are having sex because Gabaldon likes to play coy about such things, damn her.
Suck his cock already, wench — oh, whoops. You just did. And now he’s going down on you, or maybe you’re giving each other back rubs because DAMN IT I CAN’T TELL!
I think it’s a guy thing. I don’t do well with understated sex scenes.
So why do women love Jamie so much? Is it the kilt with the badger skin sporran? Of course not. I’m not dense, I know what it is.
He’s gallant. He takes punishment intended for that teenage girl and he has no expectation of reward. He got the skin whipped off his back and he didn’t even whimper about it. And he’s willing to give his life for Claire.
And then there are the physical characteristics. He’s a big motherfucker — I think Claire comes up to his bellybutton — not an effete, hairless, slender dude like her husband-from-the-future (present?), who slips from the reader’s (and Claire’s) memory as soon as she plummets back in time. In contrast, Jamie is a Manly Manâ„¢.
He’s a virgin, too, so Claire doesn’t have to worry about that narsty-assed 17th century syphilis. And he’s kind and considerate, an all-around sweetie.
Okay, that’s what women want in their fictional men; but what about real life? I’m curious about your bare minimum requirements. If the gallantry were there, how much slack would you cut a man with regard to physique? And if he were built like Jamie, how much slack would you cut him for a lack of gallantry?
You know, I’ve changed my mind. Forget gallantry and Manly Manlinessâ„¢. I think it is the kilt.
D.
The joys of home schooling
With home schooling, everything becomes educational. Everything. Even pumpkin-carving, for which we’re a few days late. Let’s just say we’ve been gestating ideas.
Photo below the cut.