Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Monthly Archives: April 2007
Winners of the Blogiversary Two Contest
Edwin!
Now, all I need to do is come up with prizes . . .
D.
Opposition to embryonic stem cell research: how is it not hypocrisy?
Last night, Karen and I watched a Law and Order episode about embryonic stem cell research. The perp, an ESCR researcher suffering from Parkinson’s disease, had tried to kill an Ann Coulter-esque demagogue who railed against the ESCR cause. He missed, killing someone else instead. On to the trial.
Despite this episode’s peculiar incoherence, the writers managed one good line. Cue the stereotypical Perry Mason scene where the perp, taking the stand, cracks under pressure. He screams at the Ann Coulter clone (and I paraphrase): I AM BETTER THAN A CLUMP OF CELLS IN A PETRI DISH!
Know what? I’m better than a clump of cells, and so is my wife, and my son, and each and every one of you. Each of the American troops in Iraq and Afghanistan is better than a clump of cells, as well as each Iraqi, Afghani, Taliban, and al Qaeda operative. Even George W. Bush is better than a clump of cells.
Wow. That was difficult to write. At least now, you know where I’m coming from. So here’s the question: why do pro-lifers loudly oppose ESCR but stay silent about the thousands of embryos destroyed every year as standard operating procedure at IVF clinics worldwide? Why is it evil to donate an unused embryo for medical research purposes, but okay to flush it down the drain?
Discussion and speculations below the cut . . .
Last day for the contest (update x 2!)
Scroll down a bit to enter.
Last night, I dreamed I was back at Berkeley (always a pleasant dream!) and I was asking one of the coaches, “Is 45 too old to try out for the wrestling team?” You should have seen the look on his face.
Remember last month’s post on the Body Mass Index? For those of you who are weight-obsessed like me, Monica Jackson has a fine three part series on dieting. Check it out.
Edited to add:
Make sure you check out Blue Gal’s Blogiversary cake TO ME!
And Cap’n Dyke has something special for me, too! Cap’n, ye can stomp me with those black leather boots any time ye pleases.
I had intended to write more tonight, but I’m wiped. Long, loooong week.
***
Quickie medical quiz for the night owls:
(And no fair googling)
Would you rather have saturnism or satyriasis?Â
D.
Thirteen apologies
I was priding myself on the easiness of this Thirteen when Netscape crashed, sending my first nine into electronic oblivion. Oh, well. So much for ‘easy.’ Save early, save often.
For each of the following apologies, guess the sinner; I’ll begin with the jackass who inspired today’s post. Answers in the comments.
Give Him hell, Kurt
From Cat’s Cradle, the Bokononist Calypso:
Someday, someday this world will have to end,
And our God will take things back that He to us did lend.
And if, on that sad day, you want to scold our God,
Why go right ahead and scold Him. He’ll just smile and nod.
Kurt Vonnegut died today at 84. When I was a kid growing up in the 70s, Vonnegut introduced me to the Big Questions — fate, free will, the truth and falsehood of religion. So much. I have warm feelings towards him, much as I do for any wise teacher.
Rest in peace.
Sorry for the brief post, but my Internet is down, and it’s a bitch blogging on the Blackberry. See ya tomorrow.
D
Blogiversary TWO (& a contest)
Yup, it’s Balls and Walnuts’s’s second blogiversary, or close enough: April 9, 2005 was my first real post.
For my second blogiversary, I’ve thawed out some birthday cake. Looks mighty warm, in fact.
(Um. In case you don’t remember my birthday cake, it’s not precisely safe for work; but you’ll have to go below the fold to find out about the contest, now, won’t you?)
what a gal!
So in this dream, Karen and I are at a resort, and Robert Redford comes over to our table. He wants to have sex with Karen and he’ll pay us a million bucks for the privilege. We’re all “heck yeah!” And before you know it, I’m listening to them through the wall, grunting and gasping.
Then Karen comes back to bed and I say, “You know, I never saw that movie, but I remember hearing that afterwards the guy and his wife –”
“Demi Moore,” Karen says.
“Whatever. So after she gets dorked by Redford, she and her husband can’t get over it.”
“Your point?”
“Um, just that I really don’t think I’m going to have any problem getting over this. How about you?”
“Me neither. Now, let me tell you what I think we should do with the money.”
And for the rest of the dream, we’re talking mortgages and investments.
D.
One outa four ain’t bad
We took off a four-day weekend for Easter — my employees’ idea, which I supposedly approved — and I’d had great hopes of finishing my romance, but it was not to be. Not that it was a wasted weekend. On Friday, I dashed off nearly 3000 words on a weird little erotica short story. Great, thought I, I’ve broken the block! Yet I still kept gagging on the manuscript.
A few months ago, I threw away the last quarter of the novel and started afresh. Today, I reread the newer material, and I’m happy with it. The big sex scene may be a little too kinky for some of my beta readers but I’ll bet I’m underestimating y’all. And now none of my characters are behaving with extraordinary stupidity. No dumbass misunderstandings, no improbable emotions. I think I see the way forward.
And I probably could have written more than five hundred words today, too, except this was the first sunny day of the last four, and the boy and I were stir crazy. Hard to resist this:
Losing the war on drugs one cat at a time
It’s getting ugly at Chez Walnut.
And here’s the I CAN HAS CHEEZBURGER? version:
