I know what you’re thinking: another writer writing about his damned cats.
Sure, some writers do a great job writing about their pets. Pat Kirby can do it, but then, what sort of hard-hearted sumbitch wouldn’t love Rat Dog? But me: if my animals aren’t having sex, I’m usually, well, uninspired.
Until now.
Candy put me up to this. Which ten celebrities would I most like to shag?
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Thirteen Memories of Food
2. In Kindergarten, we had to drink milk at recess. Had to. You couldn't throw away your milk unless the level had dropped down below the level of the cow's bell. 3. First grade: I remember the taste of guinea pig pellets (not bad) and nontoxic paste (bad). I would taste anything. I'm still that way. 4. In case you haven't guessed, I used to have pica. From that link, I learned, "Pica is most common in people with developmental disabilities, including autism and mental retardation, and in children between the ages of 2 and 3. Although kids younger than 18 to 24 months can try to eat nonfood items, it isn't necessarily considered abnormal at that age." Good to know. My favorite nonfood items: the shellac on the wood of my bedframe; chalk from any source, even the ground; tar dripping off telephone poles. 5. On the other hand, I hated bananas, carrots, cantaloupes, raw nuts, and avocado. They made my throat itch. (Remember that, Sis?) Nowadays, naturally, I love 'em all. 6. I've never tasted breast milk. (That's a non-memory.) 8. When my mother made brown rice, I would slather it with margarine and soak it with soy sauce. "You must be half-Chinese," she'd say. 9. But I was all kwailo as far as my girlfriend's mom was concerned. For the most part, I loved her cooking, as long as she didn't try to feed me fish stomach. I found out later (long after we broke up) that the woman really, really liked me. She even liked my mother. No surprise there. 10. Worst thing eaten at a Chinese wedding: squab, poorly prepared. 11. Best thing eaten at a Chinese wedding: abalone, well prepared. 12. First year away from home, my boarding house mom fixed dinners for me and my roommate. Marguerite Slater, a wonderful woman, had a catering business on the side. She had even met Julia Child. I think often of Mrs. Slater, and grumble over the fact she would never part with her apple pie recipe. The. Best. Ever. 13. In the Berkeley Co-ops, the students took turns preparing meals. Worst idea ever: tuna jello. I missed out on that one, thankfully.
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Sean Preston Federline-Spears enjoying a morning out with Mom. Like mother, like son?
D.
The BEAST brings us the 50 Most Loathesome People in America of 2005, including a special punishment for each one. Warning: if you think George W. Bush and Dick Cheney are great, wise, and wonderful human beings, stay away from this list.
This BEAST article may be old news, but I just discovered it this morning, by — how else? — snooping around Technorati.
My take? Michelle Malkin deserves to be much higher in the list than #49; Michael Brown and Scooter Libby got off too easy; Terry Schiavo — cheap shot, not funny; most chilling entry: #4; person most conspicuously absent from the list: Tim Russert. I mean, really. They put Geraldo Rivera on the list, but not Russert? Rivera’s a has-been.
Okay, Hoffman, stop goofing off and get to work.
D.
It’s late, I’m tired, and this is all ya get.
Helen Wheels left one looooong response to my Sunday blog on the rise of fascism in America. I thought about reprinting it here, but it turns out Helen posted the more detailed version on her blog, yesterday. She quotes Lawrence W. Britt’s article on fascism at length, to chilling effect.
Consider that a mighty shout.
Many thanks to Kate and her hubs for turning me on to Campbell & Reece Biology, Seventh Edition. Looks like this is going to be a great experience for my home schooler AND his dad. This beautiful textbook includes a CD with useful material (how rare is that?), and the online resources rock. Tests! They have tests! They sure know how to make home schooling easy.
Jake dove into it with both feet. Right away, the book stimulated a useful discussion on embryogenesis, haploidy, diploidy, gastrulation, and neurulation. We had to backtrack a bit to talk about gametogenesis and fertilization, but I didn’t mind. Damn it, if there’s one thing I’m qualified to teach, it’s biology. No, really, I have a PhD in this stuff (didn’t know that, did ya?)
I warmed to the discussion, eager to share my knowledge of meiosis and mitosis, spermatogenesis and seminal vesicles, ovulation and the menstrual cycle. Then, suitably enlightened, I guided Jake back towards the subjects of fertilization, implantation, and early embryonic development: initial cell divisions, morula (what the Germans call zellballen, IIRC), blastula, morula, gastrula, neurula, embyro.
Me: Any questions?
Jake: I still don’t get how the sperm get up there.
Me: Their tails spin round and round, like little motorboat propellers. They swim up there.
Jake: But how do they get up there?
Me: Well, during orgasm, muscular contractions in the uterus help draw the sperm upward.
Jake: But how do they get up there?
This clearly called for a visual aid.

Moral of the story*: never take anything for granted.
D.
*That part of the story is false. Of course my ten-year-old already knows the basic mechanics of intercourse. He’s my son, for heaven’s sake.
Moral of the story: never discount my willingness to pounce on a cheap visual joke.

Dear Mom and Dad1,
I didn’t know quite how to break this to you, so I’m sending this picture instead. I’ve met someone new. You’d like her; she’s ambitious (a nurse, as you can plainly see), and she wants a huge family, at least twelve kids. This shouldn’t be as difficult as it sounds, though, since she already has eight!
I can’t tell you how excited I am by all this. I’ve always wanted tall children, and my gal will surely provide. You see, she has crouched down about six inches so that we could take this photo cheek-to-cheek. Isn’t that awfully sweet of her?
Jacob is thrilled as can be at the thought of so many new brothers and sisters to play with. Karen is taking it as well as can be expected. It’s not as bad for her as you think, since we will all be moving to Utah and converting to Mormonism to take advantage of the bigamy thing.
We’re counting on your blessing!
Love2,
Doug
1. I don’t want you to get the impression that my parents are racist. They’re not. They are, however, 80 years old (my dad) and approaching 80 (my mom) and their ability to roll with the punches ain’t what it used to be.
2. As for the cruelty factor here, (1) they don’t read my blog, and (2) let’s just say I dish it to ’em every chance I get.
Coming soon from fabu romance publishing company Glassgiant.com:

Gee — thanks, Kate!
It’s only fair to mention that Kate found the site from Merry. By the way, as flattered as I am to have Summer write a whole novel about me, I’m not sure I understand the back cover.

At least I’m still above Creationists.
D.
Think about it. You always knew I was Kirk. Consider the similarities:
Kirk: wears a hairpiece.
Doug: needs a hairpiece.
Kirk: prefers to be the center of attention.
Doug: ditto.
Kirk: hammy enough to appear with Ricardo Montalban and still be the hammiest actor present.
Doug: in first grade, I owned the role of Chicken Little.
(Shaking fist: “Skyyyyyyy!”)
Kirk: made women, humans and green-skinned aliens alike, melt out of their spandex costumes.
Doug: just give me a chance!
Yeah, I could go on.
D.
Arkansas Gal at YesButNoButYes brings us this clip from the Jay Leno Show. If your computer can handle a hefty video, check it out. Here’s the set-up: a photo booth at Universal Studios offers free portraits, provided you follow the Control Voice’s instructions.
The old Candid Camera had a cruel streak. It was the Fear Factor of its day. This skit, on the other hand, mines humor from the quirks of human nature, and only stoops to cruelty once or twice.
. . . Or maybe three or four times. Depends on your definition of cruelty.
D.