I think that there is only one possible silver lining to Ted Kennedy's brain tumor: the tumor could be a portal that allows him to channel his dead brothers, John Malkovich-style. We could get valuable information about the afterlife and potentially election-changing endorsements from two of Barack Obama's most-referenced predecessors.

See? It's Not Just Me

CNN finally got hip to the catcall trend, but it all but ignores the genuinely creepy, grabby part of skirt season. It also misses the point when it suggests a progression from catcalls to actual assault. They're not all connected.

I'm glad that Slut Machine posted about it, but I think she completely misses the point when she asks this:

Here's my question: Although guys who shout out sexual things to women on the street are certainly assholes, are they automatically potential-criminals? Do women really think that some construction worker is gonna get off his scaffolding and remove his hardhat to assault them with his hard on?

No, SM, I don't think that every asshole on the street who kisses, whistles, or shouts is going to attack me. That's not the shitty thing about it. What sucks is that hearing the comments(or noticing the movements and leers as I walk past, when I have my iPod on) day after day adds up to a lot of extra stress. It's one thing to assume that all dudes are jerks who only view you as a set of tits and an ass; it's quite another to be reminded of it every day. I'm no prude, but I hate it, and it makes me feel less able - hell, less willing - to feel outrage when I have to deal with physical harassment. This sort of thing may not be criminal, but it's not harmless.

No no no no no

No Harvey. Not the Fraggles. Jim Henson created the Fraggles to teach children how to achieve world peace, not bombard them with fart jokes, puppet pratfalls, and stale pop-culture references. I'm sure your writers will manage to find obnoxious ways to suggest that the Fraggles were stoners, to orchestrate escapes from the Gorgs that involve a hit to the groin, and to dumb down Red and Mokey until they are nothing more than twittering idiots in search of shiny clothes and cute Fraggle boys. I'm sure Gobo will have to rescue Uncle Matt in the real world, all the others will tag along, and it will be just like The Muppets Take Manhattan but without the cameos by Joan Rivers and Gregory Hines and a far less believable romance than Kermit and Piggy's.

"They rely on a special sense called electro-reception that allows them to detect tiny changes in the electrical field generated by their prey."

Scientists have mapped the platypus genome. They are also investigating possible uses for its venom(!). Hooray for platypi!

UV-ABoys

As much as I loathe the winter and its accursed freezing darkness, all the warm layers provide extra protection against day-to-day molestation. It's a whole lot harder to assess whether an ass is grabbable when it's covered by a long, bulky coat. Summer may be the time for pretty dresses, sandals, and sunshine, but it's also the time for catcalls and groping. A small man with a Ron Jeremy mustache and a backpack was kind enough to slip his hand up my skirt yesterday as a friendly reminder of the change in seasons.

I took an informal poll of several female friends, all of whom have experienced varying degrees of harassment since moving to New York. Everyone agrees: dudes are going to say weird shit. My favorite comment came from Sunday afternoon, when a man shouted, "Damn, girl, I wanna wipe my sweat off on you!" at a friend as she walked into Target. The debate starts when it comes to the question of how to respond to unwanted groping, rubbing, and exposures. Only one friend can remember actually confronting someone who harassed her, and she readily admits that the jerks she shouted at were teenagers. Why is it so damn hard to turn around and slap some sleaze in the face?

I know the answers: patriarchy, shock, shame, the lingering fear that we may have somehow been asking for it., etc. I know that I could find a way to pretend they were the reason I simply turned away after I looked back and saw that creep leering, knowing he'd just gotten away with violating me(I've see the same look on the faces of a dangerously lecherous cab driver and a rapist). But I don't want to deduce the exact reason I chickened out. I want to wear my cute dresses and enjoy the part of my life where I'm not chubby and awkward and not wonder which Abercrombie-clad commuter is going to whip out his dick as the train pulls away. It shouldn't be MY problem. It shouldn't happen to me once a month. It just shouldn't happen.

I know it could be worse. I've dealt with worse. I read the story about the college student in CT who was assaulted while surrounded by a cheering crowd. I'm just tired of reminding myself that not all men do these things, that I can't let these experiences stop me from being my outspoken self, that I have to expect these things occasionally. Why can't one of these guys pass up a cheap, fleeting thrill, if for no other reason than that they wouldn't want someone doing the same thing to their mother?

I know that would be a magical utopia. There would probably be unicorns, and I could eat as much buttered popcorn as I want and never get fat. The only thing I can think to do is to throw my (totally undeserved but still present) shame and anger back at my (future) molesters. I'm furious with myself for not knocking Mr. Backpack and his stupid grin down the rest of those stairs. He knew he deserved it, and he knew I wasn't going to do a damn thing about it. I told myself the last time this happened, "Next time, there will be Hell to pay." Now that I have to look, again, to "next time," I finally understand why the first cab driver I ever had in New York gave me the advice he did: don't smile, and maybe carry a small knife. I like to smile. A lot. I guess that leaves the knife.

Just because, here's a list of obnoxious things people might do in upcoming weeks:

1. Eating heavily buttered popcorn at Erroll Morris' documentary Standard Operating Procedure.

2. Dieting obsessively in order to look good in bathing suits while food riots continue around the world.

3. Turning on air conditioning units while energy prices continue to rise.

4. Buying things with their recently received IRS checks while ignoring credit card debt.

5. Going to see Speed Racer and Sex and the City.

A Moment with the not so Coordinated Campaigns

In February, my sister voted in primary for an open seat on the Wisconsin Supreme Court. At 4:30 PM, she was voter number 37. Why , she asked me later, are people so captivated by the presidential election but oblivious to the local races that are much more likely to affect their day to day lives? I didn't have an answer for her in February, and after reading this piece about the struggles of politicians in Indiana, the only response I have for her is that we're not alone in our confusion.

CNN spends hours each day parsing the words of Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton, running and rerunning footage of Jeremiah Wright and Clinton's "obliterate Iran" comment, but there are voters in Indiana who don't know the names of the people vying to be the Democratic gubernatorial candidate. Governors are not exactly unimportant government figures; our last four presidents have been governors. Sadly, it seems that most would-be constituents slept through the American Government classes that covered exactly what state governments control. Or maybe they didn't go over that; it's possible the Governor and the Legislature didn't give enough money to the state university system to allow for more resources than what could be found in old Schoolhouse Rock footage.

Ugh. I was going to continue, but I just found this editorial in the Wall Street Journal.

Now it's a War?

Every time I walk to the ACE train at 50th and 8th from work, a gigantic Special K Challenege billboard shows me a woman in a bikini and asks, "Who Will Win?"

Who or what, exactly, am I fighting? Is it the bathing suit? Is it my body? Junk food? My own mixed feelings about my appearance? How do I go about "winning" against any of these things?

I'm really not that concerned with what I win in this battle; I assume that the advertisers would insist that I'd gain self-esteem and confidence, happiness, maybe even the admiration of a good-looking man, if I "won" their weight-loss challenge. I'm not that unhappy with appearance, and I'm already dating a total babe. Leaping into the fray would only lead to hypoglycemia and bitchiness. And yet I still wonder...what happens if I lose?

Here's what I see: I imagine being attacked by an army of animated two-pieces, bandeau tops wrapping themselves around my neck, all those sarongs twisting up and slapping me like an unpopular kid in a locker room, halter tops and bikini bottoms marching to orders barked out over a bullhorn by a 15 year old Russian girl. But the horrors don't end there. No gruel for meals, just the sickening banana smell of Hawaiian Tropic.

shudder

Germs!

Here's a poll for you: If you had to catch a tropical disease while in a British Colony, which would you catch? Here are some options in case you think your only option is malaria.

1. Yellow Fever
2. Scarlet Fever
3. Cholera
4. Malaria(it does have to be an option, I guess)
5. Syphilis(you know, like in Out of Africa)
6. Influenza
7. Write in your own personal favorite.

No, you cannot choose to suffer from consumption. That's what you catch if you stay in Britain!

Excellent post on This Recording that talks Exile In Guyville track by track. Best line in the piece, by far, about track 14, "Flower": You better believe she’d chew up Vampire Weekend and spit them back out without much thought.

I miss real women in rock and roll.

Black Holes

Baby black holes. Strangelets. Validation for fans of What the #$*! Do We Know?!?. The Large Hadron Collider in Geneva, Switzerland could produce any or all of these unlikely apocalyptic events, unless scientists in Hawaii can succeed in their lawsuit against the European Center for Nuclear Research(CERN).

CERN recently finished the Hadron Collider, saying excitedly in a blog post on February 22, "Soon, the first protons will be smashed together and the secrets of our universe will begin to unravel." The lawsuit alleges that the planned experiments have the potential to unravel more than just secrets. It states that there is a possibility that the particle accelerator could create a tiny black hole that would expand and eventually swallow the earth. Is it likely? No. Are the secrets of the Big Bang so sought after that the experiments are worth the risk? I have no idea. I'm not Lisa Randall.

CERN's response to these concerns is short and glib: Microscopic Black Hole Will Not Eat You, the website says. I'm inclined to let these dedicated physicists smash away under the ground, but I may change my mind when things start to feel a little heavy.

Novels

Stupid Bleak House. Thank you for sucking up 80% of my Thursday with your 7.5 hours of highly plotted drama. I curse Charles Dickens and his craven adjective-slinging plot intrigue. Thank God no one pays for fiction by the word any more(at least as they did for him). I read Underworld once, and one of the many things that book doesn't need is a bunch of knitting scenes. Back to Dostoevesky.

Put me down and shake me up, as Smallweed would say.

Fun with Abaci

I woke up this morning to Brian Lehrer telling me that the chief executive of Bear Stearns had assets that went from $1 billion to $13 million overnight. I know it's the stock market isn't *real* money, but I spent all day wondering exactly what I could buy with the $987 million that disappeared in the blink of a buyout eye. I discovered, after busting out my trusty EMILY's List logo calculator, that $987 million will buy:

24,675 24-hour "dates" with a seven-diamond Emperor's Club V.I.P. prostitute, including tips

129,019,607 packs of Camel Lights from the bodega at 19th Street and 5th Avenue in Brooklyn, New York.

123,375,000 vodka tonics at any non-Meatpacking District bar(again, including tip)

290,294,117 Grande Americanos from Starbucks

21,933,333 trips to the Union Square Virgin Megastore(if you buy compulsively from the $10 bins like I do)

49,473,684 months of subscription service to some random porn site I found on Google

7,050 full 4-year tuition scholarships to an Ivy League university

21,933 full 4-year tuition scholarships to a top-tier state school

1,000,000 coach round trip tickets to Warsaw, Poland(with plenty left over to travel for at least two years in Eastern Europe, the Balkans, and the -Stans)

1,410,000 trips to Chicago for the Pitchfork Music Festival, including travel, food, and accommodation

Medical care for assorted orphans and poor kids(costs vary, but I'm sure that kind of scratch would cover a couple of rounds of chemo and some lollipops)

What did I miss?

Rules are Made for Breaking

This is a real email conversation between me and a co-worker/friend/fellow sinner:

Me: Did you see this?

E: Yes, but they're sooo vague!

Me: It wouldn't be The Vatican if they told us what we're doing wrong! How will we live in a state of constant fear and guilt?

E: That's true, but I need specifics so I can judge my neighbor!

Dear Woman that CNN Allowed to Write About Gardasil,

I am glad you are not my mother. If you were my mother and I were still a teenager, I would very much enjoy rubbing my slatternly behavior in your face. I would also go to Planned Parenthood and ask someone there about getting the vaccine without telling you. It is a simple choice, it is the right choice, and you should stop whining. And probably ask yourself why you waited two years to seriously think about this. And also come to terms with the concept that your kids already know all about this because they're teenagers and they live in the world.

Thank you,
Meredith

PS: Please, please stop talking about the religious freaks that probably want their daughters' reproductive organs turn into a malignant goo(it sure does make a great mental picture for the next Silver Ring Thing meeting) like they're anything less than controlling, deluded, misogynistic abusers. You know very well they'd get it for their sons.

Friday

What does it say about me that when forced to stay in and convalesce I alternate between watching PBS and these clips from some of my favorite sci fi movies? I haven't seen all of the movies listed there, but I wonder which science fiction cranial explosions best suit our Oval Office contenders? I haven't seen Brain Damage or Deadlock, but I have seen Battle Royale and Suicide Club, two movies mentioned in the comments, so they're going to sub in for this exercise.

1. The first question I have to ask myself is, "Which Presidential candidates are Scanners? On the freedom-fighting, consciousness-raising, not-to-be-used as weapons side I lean towards Mike Gravel, Dennis Kucinich, or Ron Paul. Who gets to be Michael Ironside and lose his brain but keep his body? I'm less sure on this one. I'm thinking Mitt Romney. Who doesn't want to see Mr. Mormon slaver all over titian amazon Elizabeth?

2. Who do I want to see swell up like a balloon? The Governator was the star of Total Recall, so I think the best candidate for Mars-air-lock-head-explosion is his Arnold's candidate of choice, John McCain. There's no real need to overthink this one.

3. Wow. I don't know that any of the candidates really embody "body-eating, shape-shifting, evil alien from outer space?" The current administrations international military and economic policy already have that covered, so my evaluation will have to rest on who I would most like to see Kurt Russell waste with a flame-thrower. Mike Huckabee. Also, I think his head would make the best spider. The middle legs would fit perfectly around his ears.

4. Here's where things get tricky. My best substitute for Brain Damage is this clip from Battle Royale, only the greatest film about high school EVER. If you look at elections as a fight to the death that are also fraught with death traps and betrayal, this film connects most directly to our current political situation. I'm going to try to be optimistic, to give change a chance. I'm going to say the person most likely to brutally slaughter the remainder of the competition and survive, teddy bear in hand, is Barack Obama.

5. Finally, we replace Deadlock with Suicide Club. Frankly, I wouldn't mind seeing all of them lock hands and jump onto the subway tracks. Then we could start again and I could stop being so election-fatigued.

Funwall? No wonder he's got the youth vote locked up...

This website offers more compelling reasons for me to change my primary allegiance than ten debates!

How NOT to propose a NSA sexual relationship

A dear friend of mine received this email yesterday, and I'm still confused. I'd think it was just a bit of spam or some sort of chain email if it weren't for the overwrought email she received on Valentine's Day. I can't figure out what the author thought the outcome would be from this sudden burst of anonymous missives. If you're wondering how best to avoid scaring the attraction out of your potential fuck-buddy, or if you're the one making my friend feel like she's living in the Hotel Overlook from The Shining, my step by step dissection might help you.

From: Mister Rightnow <rightnowmister@gmail.com>
Two Words Mr. President: Plausible Deniability

You should have stopped when you decided this email address was going to seem clever to Your Object of Desire(from here on out, YOD). Also, "Plausible Deniability" is not something a woman as liberal as YOD wants to see in her government's bag of tricks.

So, how are you? Well, I hope.

This will not put YOD at ease. Pleasantries work better when they come from someone identifiable.

The subject line of this email is quite intentional; it's the operating premise for what I'd like to propose.

"Operating premises" tend not to play an important role in sex, unless you are Alfred Kinsey or Masters & Johnson.

We've been friends, of sorts, for awhile now. Friends who occasionally do things together, enjoy each other's company, but don't really share lots of mutual friends or are in everyday contact with each other.

This makes you sound like a stalker, not an acquaintance.

I like you, respect you, feel warmly about you, and think you're attractive, but that's never kindled into something more than friendship. I suspect you feel likewise.

Again, this is something that would be more easily evaluated if YOD KNEW WHO YOU WERE.

Because I value that, I don't want to see it disrupted by what I'm proposing. Thus the plausible deniability.

Normal people take this risk every day. If you are that worried about plausible deniability, you are probably a sociopath.

I don't think you're in a relationship, and don't even know if you're seeking one. Neither am I, and because I may be leaving Madison in a few months, and for numerous other reasons, I'm staying single.

But I really miss being intimate with someone I enjoy being with. And intimacy, for me, can't work with someone with whom I have no emotional connection. This is particularly difficult for me because I have a very healthy libido (in the classical sense). In the past, that has led to a series of monogamous relationships, but that's precisely what I'm taking a break from now.

So heading off to some bar, or browsing personals, won't work. The first has no emotional connection, and the second presupposes a relationship (usually).

You could do away with both of these paragraphs. They both make you sound self-centered. You've known YOD for a while and you don't know if she's single or anything about what she might want from her life? What exactly is the "classical sense" of "healthy libido?"

In thinking about how I could resolve this conundrum, you came to mind. She seems to have a healthy sexual appetite, is comfortable with herself, and would be capable of viewing this as something that might be good for both of us, I thought.

My head hurts. Is being lonely and horny really a "conundrum?" Also, it's not exactly the height of flattery to tell a woman that she seems to be just desperate enough to go along with your plan.

But how do I ask her? I don't want to wreck our friendship with some drunken, blunt come-on. Or make some dramatic, in-person appeal.

WHY NOT? People do it all the time, get turned down, and move on. Overcoming the fear of rejection is a natural part of dating. Besides, if YOD was drunk as well, she'd probably at least have made out with you(NSA too!).

That's why this message is deliberately framed so that if you're not interested you don't have to even acknowledge it, and our friendship will not suffer. Above all, I'd like to keep that intact, even if it may not last beyond my moving from Madison.

You might think that this email does that, but what it ACTUALLY does is make YOD apt to look at every male acquaintance askance. How will you keep your relationship intact if she's constantly wondering if you're the wordy creep who basically admitted he wanks to memories of her at night?

Rest assured about a number of concerns: I'm not seeking a relationship. I'm not possessive. I'm not *hyper*sexual, or into any bizarre kinks (Are you?!! Hmmm!). I'm great to snuggle with (I seem to generate a ton of body heat), I love to talk and listen, I'm generally supportive – oh, and I'm a very good, considerate lover.

This reads like a paragraph from a Craigslist Casual Encounters ad. Not. Sexy.

So tell me what you think. Or not. If the latter, our friendship will continue. If the former, it could take on a surprising new dimension.

OMG WHO ARE YOU AND WHY DO YOU THINK ANY WOMAN WOULD AGREE TO BE YOUR FUCK BUDDY BEFORE SHE KNEW WHO YOU WERE?

All my best.

-(Hah! and you thought I'd sign my name here? NOT!!) ;P

Snotty sign-off. Furthermore, only a pornographic emoticon is acceptable in this context. Why not go with "Best of luck with all your future endeavors?"

Mr. Right Now will not be receiving a response from my friend, but it may receive a response from some other ladies-I'm sending it in to Jezebel's Crap Email From a Dude.

OMG Racists!

Tyra Banks finally got around to reading Freakonomics, and today's show is all about what are names make people think. A multi-ethnic group of people were shown different names and encouraged to say what they thought those people would be like. My favorite quotes from the panel after only 20 minutes:

"Jose sounds like he should learn some English."

"[Ashleigh] is definitely promiscuous."

"Deedrica sounds black black, ghetto black."

The best part? The names they are evaluating are the names of CHILDREN who, conveniently, have names that tend not to match their races. And their moms are in the audience. Separated into different sections based on their races.

I wish I had TiVo.

Firsts

At 7:12 this morning, my mother was voter number 32 at the McFarland Village Hall. "I almost cried when I handed in my ballot," she told me. "I couldn't believe I got to vote for a woman for President!"