Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Monthly Archives: June 2007
Proof
A lot of you have heard me say that I’m a lesbian trapped in a man’s body, and apparently this is true, given this list of the 100 Hottest Women chosen by gay/bi women over at AfterEllen.com.
Let’s face it: Maxim doesn’t cater to lesbians. In fact, you could say it flies in the face of all that we hold dear, especially when it declares Lindsay Lohan the hottest of them all, as it did when it published The Maxim Hot 100 List last month. So we asked you, our readers, to create your own list of hotties, and you came out in droves to nominate the women you think deserve to be on the AfterEllen.com Hot 100 List. Thousands of votes later, we have the results.
How is our list different from Maxim‘s? Eight of the top 10 women on our list aren’t mentioned anywhere on the Maxim list (Angelina Jolie and Lena Headey are the exceptions), and only four of the women who made Maxim‘s top 10 (Jessica Alba, Scarlett Johansson, Jessica Biel and Lindsay Lohan) appear somewhere on the AfterEllen.com list.
Clearly, what straight men and lesbians find sexy in a woman is a little bit different.
Cap’n Dyke will be delighted to see that Angelina Jolie made #2. Me, I’m tickled by everyone I see here, but in the top 10: Angelina, Salma, and Natalie, YUM. But why the lack of ethnic balance? I’d love to compare Maxim’s list with AfterEllen’s list on ethnic balance, relative blondeness, and relative boobage, but I’m writing on my office computer, which is slooooow. Guess I’ll have my work cut out for me this evening.
Check it out, though, and tell me who’s your favorite from the top 10. Oh, what’s my proof? I have to go all the way down to #25, Mariska Hargitay, before I find someone whom I don’t consider hot.
D.
PS: Glad to see Michelle Rodriguez in the #24 spot. Karen and I both think she’s hot, even though Karen claims she just likes Michelle’s acting.
PPS: Is that really Lucy Lawless?
News bits
I’ve had another late-and-tiring day. I seem to be having a lot of those lately, and I’m telling you, it’s a real drag. Sometimes I tell Karen I want to quit. I’ll wing it. Something will come up.
She just smiles and laughs.
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Because inquiring minds want to know, here’s My MySpace Page.
Please be my friend?
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I made the first cut for the Samhain Best First Line Contest. Mine is #15. They eliminated 2/3 of the 272 entries, and now it’s up to the 90 who remain to post their second lines. I suppose it’s a little too late to realize my second line is a sentence fragment, but at least I’m not the only one (e.g., #14). My third line is a bit of a run-on, but I’ll worry about that if I pass round two.
My current favorite is from Amme (#38):
Who are these women, and why do they want to be my friends?
A little over a year ago, I listened to Daisy Dexter Dobbs and set up a MySpace page. Daisy suggested it would drive more traffic to Balls and Walnuts, but I don’t know. I haven’t seen much action coming my way from MySpace. I guess I should be adding content over there, but it would be yet another daily chore. I can’t be bothered.
See, here’s what I don’t understand: who the hell are all these beautiful young women who want to be my friends? If they’re real, then my “Men” post the other day is complete and utter bullshit.
But I don’t think they’re real. I think they’re trying to sell me shit.
Faturday Flickr Babe!
Faturday Flickr Babe explained.
(By the way: the “fat” in “Faturday” is a coincidence of requisite alliteration and Roman Empire theology. It has nothing to do with the lipid content of the buttocks above. I happen to think these are perfect buttocks, and in fact, there’s a huge range of buttock perfection.)
My favorite part? The itty bitty downy area above the crack. Mmm.
Come ’round tonight at 7 – 7:30 PM PST for Live Blogging. See ya soon.
D.
P.S. For your reading pleasure: Fun at the Creation Museum!!!!
Men
In the June 11/18 issue of The New Yorker, Jeffrey Eugenides writes of his reaction to Nicolas Roeg’s 1971 film Walkabout:
Soon the Aborigine and the girl are cavorting naked in an oasis. Later, as they near civilization, the Aborigine performs a mating dance, to which the girl doesn’t respond, and the next morning she finds that he has hanged himself in a tree.
Two suicides. A lengthy montage of Edenic, but full frontal, nudity. And all without my mother putting her hand over my eyes. Beyond the wondrous excitement of all this was the message the film conveyed, and for which there existed no better recipient than a twelve-year-old growing up in the wake of the sixties: civilization was evil, technology deracinating, and the only solution a return to nature.
Through this whole piece, I was so with Eugenides . . . right up until that last sentence; because, at that point, I became convinced that during our most impressionable years, he and I had watched a different movie. He thought the message of Walkabout was that “civilization was evil, technology deracinating.” (Precocious twelve-year-old, eh?) For me, Walkabout confirmed something my nine-year-old brain had known for several years.
Girls will drive you fooking nuts.
Gray matter fatigue
I thought about writing a post, “Top Ten Items Encountered at Paris Hilton’s Cavity Search,” but after my #10 (From Room 209 of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, the missing Gideon’s Bible), I came up with nothin’. Nicole Richie’s ________. Donald Trump’s _______.
Like I said. Nothin’. The Muse is underwhelmed by Paris, so perhaps it’s a good thing I decided not to write my own version of Paris’s Prison Diaries.
If you’ll allow me to kvetch, I’m still coughing (have I mentioned that yet?), had a full OR schedule today (7:30 – 5:00 without a break), got home late thanks to a hospital committee meeting, and right now I can think of nothing better but to crawl into bed and watch the end of Mythbusters. Tomorrow looks similarly grueling, including a Board of Trustees meeting. So unless someone can suggest an extremely easy Thirteen, we might be looking at a Friday Fourteen. Or a Saturday Sixteen.
Anyway. Here’s Jake, age five, clambering around at our local park.
D.
Ich möchte gern Jazzmusik.
Not my German teacher.
With regard to Karen & me: lots of big things bind us together, but lots of little things do, too. For example, the fact we both suffered through two quarters of German at Berkeley.
The College of Chemistry required us to learn things like Ich möchte gern Jazzmusik and Bringen Sie mir bitte Rotkohl dazu! I’ll never understand how red cabbage related to Germany’s domination of the 19th and early 20th Century organic chemistry literature; but in the minds of our profs, two quarters of German girded us for the Beilstein Handbuch, Zeitschriften, and Naturwissenschaften.
Yeah, I pulled those names outa my ass. Or outa my deepest darkest memory, which is much the same place.
I haven’t retained a hell of a lot of German — little more than a handful of inane lines. One (the title of this post) burst forth this evening when some silly commercial came on TV. Another tends to erupt at the most inopportune of moments.
Mid-sex, for example:
Das macht Grossmutter besonders freude!
I suppose That makes Grandmother especially happy beats screaming out the name of an old boyfriend or girlfriend, but it’s a buzz kill just the same.
What a weird, warped textbook. The one chapter Karen and I talk about more than any other concerned the Gastarbeiter, the guestworkers brought in from Southern and Eastern European countries to fuel Germany’s burgeoning industrial sector. This chapter fairly dripped with racism, and included the memorable line*
Die Gastarbeiter haben vielen Krankheiten.
The guestworkers have many illnesses.
Many illnesses, dirty, uneducated, don’t blend in well with others — it appalled us, reading crap like this here in the bastion of Liberal America. The book was written by the Departmental Chair, a guy we never saw nor heard from. I wonder how many years they used that textbook before someone squawked?
I like the fact that Karen and I have 25 years of common memories. I like the fact I can blurt Ich möchte gern Jazzmusik and the woman doesn’t look at me like I’m a freak.
No, that’s my son’s job.
D.
*My memory is not necessarily grammatically accurate.
Your morning meme
This is an “eight random facts about me” meme. I’m tagging everyone who, right this instant, can’t figure out what they’re going to blog about today. Now you have a topic.
Thorne stuck me with this one. (Sorry. Punny mood this AM, apparently.)
1. Breakfast this morning: coffee and Nilla wafers.
2. I’m a glass half-empty kinda guy who would prefer to be a glass half-full kinda guy.
3. My home is full of tiny flies. I can get rid of them using the vacuum, but by the time I’ve finished, more flies are back where I started.
4. Arguably our strangest pet, ever: a Cuban Knight Anole. We named him Ike. He would turn jet black whenever he was pissed, which was often; he would gape and hiss at you, like Donald Sutherland at the end of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and he had one hell of a bite.
5. I think I’m trapped somewhere between the Oral Phase and the Anal Phase. Is there a Gastric Phase? (Incidentally: we’ve all heard the phrase “anal retentive,” but did you know there’s such a thing as “anal expulsive”? Ew.)
6. My favorite shirts are from Eddie Bauer’s Wrinkle Resistant line. However, the ones I buy are far less fugly.
7. Last night, we had to explain “soap operas” to my 11-year-old son. By his age, I was already onto my second addiction (first: Dark Shadows; second: Ryan’s Hope). In med school, most of the class watched All My Children in the med student lounge on our lunch hour. I would spend that time eating my sandwich and working the crossword puzzle. Not that I was above All My Children (or All My Chickies, as we used to call it), but it wasn’t Ryan’s Hope.
8. I think this post by O’Brien is sexy. It made me sad, too, but I’m not saying why.
It’s getting increasingly difficult, finding new stuff to reveal. Sometimes I think that one day, this blog will heave itself out of e-space and lurch through the streets, passing itself off as me. And no one will know the difference.
D.
Too much fun!
Samhain’s contest is up and running. My entry is #29 #28 #26 (how did that happen?), and I must say, it’s the best so far. But then, I’m partial.
My second favorite is Christine D’Abo’s #23, but that’s only because she’s playing into one of my treasured fantasies.
Lots of dead people in these opening lines, and at least one werewolf. What is it with supernaturals? Are they hot right now?
Speaking of fantasies, check out the short story I wrote for Tiggr’s blog, A Spanking Good Time:
It’s erotica. Historical BDSM erotica, no less. And if it’s too perverse for you, blame Suisan. No, really. It’s all her fault.
D.
Monday Morning Flickr Follies
Some lighter-than-air entertainment for you on this blue, blue Monday.
Humor does it for me every time. I’m also partial to shoplifting dogs (#21).
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Looks like we are, indeed, going to have a real vacation this year. Current plan: July 4 – 10. We’ll fly into Seattle, then somehow go up to Vancouver. This assumes Karen can find her and Jake’s birth certificates.
Will the rental car companies let us take one of their cars across the border?
We’re looking forward to seeing Dean and SxKitten in person. As for my Bay Area friends: we’re shooting for a Thanksgiving trip.
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I was kvetching about our icky plywood floors to a friend, and she (being polite, I assume) tried to make plywood floors sound like a GOOD thing. Because, you know, they’re already so ugly you don’t have to worry about cleaning them.
And if you think that’s bad, you should see the kitchen.
D.