Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Category Archives: such as it is
Dumbass California cracker
That’s what I’m thinking when I discover I’ve overshot the Eddie Bauer outlet store by oh, 45 minutes driving time. “I see. Apopka-Vineland is a really long road.” But by then, all my bargain-hunting desire had been flayed from me by the cruel Orlando traffic. It didn’t help that my conference center was mere minutes away from the outlet store.
I’ll go tomorrow — after the morning session concludes but before I go to Gatorland to eat me some Gator for Corn Dog’s sake.
I ended up going to Orlando’s Millennia Mall. What a zoo! I’ve never had to park so far from a mall entrance (except in Silicon Valley at Xmastime). Don’t these Orlandoians have anything better to do on a Saturday night? But apparently not. Orlando is wall-to-wall commerce, one great mini-mall spreadeagled beneath its tumescent, leering, murine overlord. It’s Los Angeles without killer cops and Bald Britneys. It’s Las Vegas with lakes.
After much anguish, I found a present for Jake. No, I’m not saying. He’ll be pleased, I hope, and does he ever need something to cheer him up. He’s been sick with some kind of weird viral crud since the first of the year and I think he’s tired of being ill.
While at the mall, I picked up the nationwide Zagat to get an idea where to eat. I picked Amaya, a Japanese restaurant not far from my hotel (in Orlando-speak, that means, “Less than a thirty minute drive”). Reasonably good sushi, though not comparable to the Bay Area. I sat at the sushi bar beside a woman with livid red hair that might have been real. I tried not to stare, but she was SO BIG. Like an Amazon without the self-inflicted wound. So I ate my sushi and read erotica on my Blackberry and tried again not to stare.
Time to drink more gin. Alcohol at night is bad for sleep apnea but it has a protective effect for, oh, I don’t know. It’s in my syllabus.
And I found out that Medicare snuck in a 10% pay cut last year. This might just be for procedures; I’m not sure yet. But it’s getting harder and harder to tread water. Some docs like to figure out how many days per week they work to meet their overhead, but I’ve never been that masochistic. But it’s a good thing I’m going to be a bestselling novelist some day. We all know how lucrative that is.
D.
Alien landscape
Ever since college, and perhaps even longer than that, I’ve had a recurring dream of a rocky area set aside for hikers. Once, and only once — I was in med school at the time — I explored far enough that I found a cave. Something of great importance was in the cave but I never found out what it was. I’ve been trying to make it back ever since.
Back here in the real world, I think this is why I love places like Red Rock Canyon (near Las Vegas) and Vasquez Rocks (in So. Cal.)Â Both places inspire the same feeling in me: the expectation that just around the corner, I’ll see the rocks of my dreams, and perhaps also the cave.
The older I become, the farther I get from that landscape. Last night, I tried making it up there on my ten-speed; but it was winter, and folks were telling me how treacherous the hiking had become, what with all the snow and sleet. I never even got a glimpse.
From childhood, I recall other places of power. A desolate road, a hidden beach. Walk a little farther and I knew I would find myself in another world, one that obeyed different rules. Back then, the idea of escape to another world fascinated me, asleep or awake. But with age comes contentedness, and maybe that’s why those other worlds have slipped away; I don’t need them now. I don’t even need the promise they hold.
They’re always to the northwest, these regions. Go figure.
D.
Duggar delight: Seventeen Sixteen and one in the oven
Remember the Duggars?
I can always tell when Michelle Duggar is pregnant. No, she doesn’t have to pee on a stick; I need only check my blog’s top entry pages. When Snape Hearts Michelle Duggar starts creeping up in the ratings, some sort of Duggary Goodness is a-brew; and if you’re a Duggar, goodness = fecundity.
If Shara can be trusted, Number Eighteen is on the way. Should we start the naming pool? J-names only, people. I pick “Jaggers” if it’s a boy, “Jezebel” if it’s a girl.
From Shara’s blog:
Now, I know a lot of people might think that having 18 kids is irresponsible or just plain crazy and I might have even been one of those people once. But, this is one of the happiest most well adjusted families that you will EVER meet. I would like to be one of the Duggars! Really!
How does she know this? How can Shara distinguish happiness from Stepfordian acquiescence? She went to school with Michelle. That’s right — Shara is a firsthand witness to Duggary. I wish she had given us some insight into the teen pre-Duggar Michelle, but sadly she does not.
In a recent comment to this blog, Stefanie writes,
The Duggar family inspires me quite a bit. I mean, yes they have 16 children, but look at how much patience they have with all their children, especially the little ones. More power to them! If the Lord decided that this is the lifestyle for them to live, so be it. It’s not our place to judge each other. Like the bible says “Judge not les ye be judged†and “He without sin casts the first stoneâ€. Let the family live in peace. They are doing God’s work upon Earth. They are truly blessed with a wonderful family and I hope to see more documentaries about them in the future. God Bless Duggar Family!
Ah, where to begin. How about the fact that that particular post, aside from poking a little fun at a poorly worded email (supposedly from Jana Duggar), hardly threw “the first stone,” nor was it the least bit judgmental. But I’m more interested in Stefanie’s assertion that the Duggars are doing God’s work upon Earth.
For the sake of argument, let’s grant that God exists. Either (A) God’s ways and movements are mysterious, or (B) God’s ways and movements are revealed to the likes of Stefanie, Pat Robertson, George W. Bush, etc. If (B) is true, I would like these cognoscenti to explain to me the horror of evil, particularly evil inflicted upon the innocent and defenseless. And if they explain it by invoking God’s mysteriousness and ineffability, then (A) is true, in which case I would politely request that these folks shut the eff up about God.
***
‘Kay everyone, I’ve reached my depth for the evening. I had a bad night last night thanks to the horrors of acid reflux; it’s a minor miracle I managed to get some decent writing in today. But I did! Yay me!
One sex scene: down.
Two virgins: deflowered.
Stay tuned for tomorrow, wherein I meet some of Ellora’s cavepeople.
D.
The H Files
H for Truly Heinous.
From ABC Distributing, meet the Stoneware Egg Separator:
In case the picture wasn’t clear enough, ABC Distributing provides the following explanation:
Just break an egg into the separator, tilt it 45 degrees, and watch as the egg white drips out of his nose, leaving a perfect yolk inside the dish!
Also from ABC Distributing: for that low-expectations nephew of yours, get him his very own 32″ Stamped Steel Pennzoilâ„¢ & John Deere® Gas Pump!
When your little one asks, Mommy, could I grow up to be President someday? don’t you always throw up a little when you say, Yes, dear, anyone in God’s America can grow up to be President? ‘Tis nothing more bitter than to lie to a child. Better, then, to redirect:
President, dear? Why be President, when you could be a gas jockey?
Oy. My mom’s birthday is approaching. Maybe I’ll just get her this Talking Napoleon Dynamite pen.
D.
Beautiful people
Egalia, my favorite Guerilla Woman, tapped into an interesting and lively debate currently making the rounds on the ‘net. I would like to give you my perspective, but first, some background.
Pink Kitty likes to dance, and she’s damned good at it. She posted a vid on her blog. Brittney at Nashville is Talking picked up the vid and reposted it on her blog. First comment, from God’s Gift to Women “Wintermute”:
Skip it, dudes. Another blogging whale.
And thus arose a shit storm. I found Aunt B’s post (on her blog, Tiny Cat Pants) particularly intriguing. One of her commenters asked the question,
I’m constantly tempted to write something about the general unf@#$ability of sexist asshats like our friend Wintermute. I’ve yet to see an attractive MRA, for example. The question is whether my doing so would do more harm than good. I’m not sure, honestly, but I remain tempted. Thoughts?
In other words, does it serve the cause of feminism to call an ugly asshat an ugly asshat? I encourage you to read Aunt B’s full post, including the comments, but her bottom line answer is, No, it’s not okay, because it plays into the very thing we’re trying to condemn:
So, it’s true that, not only are there a great many men who think they deserve beautiful girls to fuck; there are a great many women who believe that certain men deserve beautiful girls to fuck and, if those women can prove that they are among those beautiful girls, that they deserve the perks that come with being the arm candy of a man who deserves to fuck beautiful women (usually, a man who has power of some sort).
I think the trick is to realize that we disagree with that whole worldview and to refuse to play into it at any end. Not because it’s more moral, but because we really do want the world to be different than that, and, in some way, the only way to have a different world is to do the difficult work of already living as if that world were here now.
I agree with this, but I also agree with one commenter, Magniloquence:
Anyway, the shortest answer, and the one that keeps coming to me, is that you can’t tell him how butt-ugly he is because that’s rude. Yes, there are feminist implications, but the main reason you don’t do that is because you’re better than that*, and there’s nothing to be gained.
. . . [snip] . . .
* Not inherently more moral, but better trained. Not “women are better than men” or “feminists are better than everyone else,” but you, as a nice person, are better than the troll, who is not being nice.
I keep thinking, Miss Manners would approve of Magniloquence’s reasoning. It’s a bigger issue than feminism — it’s about common decency. You don’t go around making hurtful comments, you know? It violates the Golden Rule, and y’all know how I feel about that.
But, back to this issue of thinking you deserve beautiful women (or men) to fuck. Of requiring some minimal level of physical attractiveness before you’ll ever deign to consider the other person as potential BF or GF material. Bear with me for a moment — I’m going to say some very self-serving things, but when you get right down to it, I’m not as honorable as it will at first seem.
I’ve never chosen a woman on the basis of looks. Never. Personality, wit, a sense that we looked at things the same way — those are my prerequisites. I’m not saying these women aren’t beautiful, though, because to me, they’re gorgeous. But are they among the Beautiful People of the world? Not really. Would I have traded any one of them for someone more conventionally beautiful? Not if it meant settling for someone with a shade less brilliance.
I wonder sometimes if I’ve been just as ruthlessly materialistic in my own way as the guy who has a list of physical requirements — has to be chesty, has to be a redhead, has to be thin, yatta yatta. Because, like that guy, it always has been about my needs. That guy wants to get laid by a beautiful woman. He wants her to be his public arm candy. He wants a certain level of physical/aesthetic satisfaction.
I want mental satisfaction.
I want to be stimulated (mentally. Well, that other stimulation, too, but that’s another issue). I want to be entertained. I want to feel less alone.
Funny, isn’t it, that my demands should meet with public approval, while the Wintermutes of the world are viewed with scorn? (And, by the way, what kind of guy chooses as his online handle the name of a murderous AI? It’s like calling yourself HAL 9000, only more arrogant, since fewer people will catch the reference.) On some level, aren’t we being equally selfish?
Because I really do think people like me can be every bit as piggishly demanding as Wintermute. If a guy never thinks about your needs, never acts selflessly for your benefit, and instead expects you to satisfy his emotional demands, how is that any different from the egocentrist who expects you to satisfy his physical demands?
This kind of thinking can drive a guy nuts. And what about the supposed “selfless acts”? If I scrutinize the things I do which others might consider selfless, I find a whole host of self-centered motivations. For an extreme example, consider this gedanken experiment:
I can do something which benefits another person, but that person will never know it. No one will ever know about it but me. Do I do it?
Yes, because, thanks to self esteem issues, I’m always doing things like that just to feel less worthless. I do it because it gives me temporary internal relief to do it. An idealized example of selfless behavior, and I’m doing it for purely selfish reasons.
See what I mean? A guy could go nuts. Stark raving nuts.
D.
Rocks on the brain
‘Kay, everyone, Kris Starr has a contest, and it’s easy. (But Kris, you really expect me to believe that guy on the cover is a doctor? He looks younger than Doogie Howser at his youngest! And he doesn’t look like he’s had all the joy stomped out of him by med school and training. He . . . he looks like a pre-med. *Shiver.*) Michelle has a book giveaway, too!
I woke up this morning thinking about the Vasquez Rocks. You all know the Vasquez Rocks, unless you’ve spent the last 40 years or more never watching television, never going to any movies. You may not think you know the Vasquez Rocks, but you do.
Vasquez Rocks are an absolute trip for people like me and my son who love to rockclimb but don’t know a thing about it. And who don’t have proper shoes, not to mention proper equipment. Thanks to the formation of the rocks — a formation which makes them recognizable to damn near everyone — newbies like my son and me can climb to great heights with little risk of broken bones. And it’s always cool to be climbing a little bit of Hollywood history.
Here’s a short list of the Vasquez Rocks’ guest appearances:
Star Trek: The Original Series. Three episodes
Blazing Saddles
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Apache (1954)
Planet of the Apes (2001)
The Outer LimitsAustin Powers: International Man of Mystery (1997)
Army of Darkness (1993)
Dracula (1931)
Give up? Pic below the cut.
More odds and ends
I’m impressed with the FBI. Honestly, no snark! I received a spam which looked suspicious for child pornography, so I dropped a tip at the FBI’s website. They require you to leave all kinds of contact info, so I gave my office address and phone number.
Yeah, yeah, keep reading . . .
Odds and ends
Hmm. Let’s see.
The contest is still running. This will be a tough one. As an added incentive, it looks like Kenney does indeed want to use these stories on his website, and he’s going to post them at his show! Imagine: hordes of hoity-toity San Franciscans, champagne in hand, pinkies pointing outward, speaking in hushed tones as they read your short fiction.
I suspect my story “Heaven on Earth” got swallowed up in the holiday rush. My pal Corn Dog read it, but I suspect some of you missed that post. It’s a favorite of mine, that story, and I’d hate for y’all to miss it.
Speaking of Corn Dog, my new spam blocker, Akismet, thinks she’s spam. I think she’s far superior to spam — pâté de foie gras at the very least. Anyway, I think I’ve fixed it but only time will tell (CD, leave me a reply so we can see if everything is cool). If anyone else is being blocked, please email me at: azureus (at) harborside (dot) com. UPDATE: nope, we’re still screwed. And she can’t post to Dean’s or SxKitten’s blog, either, and they both use Akismet. I wonder what gives?
More later. Gotta go make dinner.
D.
Hopes for the New Year
No resolutions, my friends. I know what I need to do. But there are innumerable things I have no control over, things I would like to see happen in 2007. Here are a few.
1. Please, for the love of God, no more ugly crotch shots from the likes of Paris Hilton or Britney Spears; nor do I want to watch Nicole Richey descend further into her heroin-chic fashion world of anorexic glam.
2. All war criminals and perpetrators of crimes against humanity should be given the Saddam treatment: they should stand trial and be summarily hung by the neck until dead. Gentlemen, you know who you are. The world will breathe a sigh of relief when you’re gone.
3. Katie Holmes should find a loophole in her prenup with Tom Cruise and stick it to him for every penny. Tom should then sink into the obscurity his talentlessness and all-around psychopathology so richly deserves.
4. Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton should begin demonstrating some true leadership skills — hmm, how about championing the impeachment of Bush and Cheney? — or, failing that, they should clear the field for candidates who will show some backbone. On that same note, I’m hoping Al Gore will announce his candidacy this year. Until he does, my vote is for Edwards.
5. Needless to say, I’d like to see all the troops come home from the Middle East. Colin Powell’s Pottery Barn rule ignores the fact that when glass shatters, you can’t put it back together. You can pay for a new one. When a government emerges from the mess in Iraq, we can (and should) pay reparations.
6. Can we please have one single, solitary year without another Law & Order spinoff? This weekend of CSI/SVU marathons has left me with a vaguely guilty feeling, as if I should expect a call from Vincent D’Onofrio and his goons at any moment. Note to Hollywood: drama can happen outside of New York. Drama can happen outside of a courtroom. Drama does not require murders or gruesome sex crimes. Jeez.
7. I would like to see a new book from Martin Cruz Smith (it’s been two years since Wolves Eat Dogs), and a new movie from Alan Rickman other than the latest Harry Potter flick.
8. And oh, am I ever looking forward to the release of Spore, the PC game event of the decade!
So what are you hoping for?
D.