Earring

Earring
Originally uploaded by hilarityinsooz.

Dr. All Cock

Are these two people x-lovers? I love that he didn't read her book:

"Dr. Lloyd said there was no doubt in her mind that the clitoris was an evolutionary adaptation, selected to create excitement, leading to sexual intercourse and then reproduction.

But, "without a link to fertility or reproduction," Dr. Lloyd said, "orgasm cannot be an adaptation."

Not everyone agrees. For example, Dr. John Alcock, a professor of biology at Arizona State University, criticized an earlier version of Dr. Lloyd's thesis, discussed in in a 1987 article by Stephen Jay Gould in the magazine Natural History.

In a phone interview, Dr. Alcock said that he had not read her new book, but that he still maintained the hypothesis that the fact that "orgasm doesn't occur every time a woman has intercourse is not evidence that it's not adaptive."

"I'm flabbergasted by the notion that orgasm has to happen every time to be adaptive," he added.

Dr. Alcock theorized that a woman might use orgasm "as an unconscious way to evaluate the quality of the male," his genetic fitness and, thus, how suitable he would be as a father for her offspring.

"Under those circumstances, you wouldn't expect her to have it every time," Dr. Alcock said."

From the NY Times...full article

Oh God No

Pye

Taking a clue from Dave at ETD, I would like to devote this entire post to my darling cat, Pye. Two nights ago I couldn't find her when I crawled into bed. I couldn't sleep, imagining her out there getting raped and beaten by really mean "alley cats" or skinned by serial-killers-to-be. I don't think some cats should be "outdoor cats", especially not this one because she is a gentle little pacifist who only likes cuddling and gently pawing at my stomach. After a restless, nightmare-ridden sleep, I woke up and got ready for work. Sure enough, when I opened the front door, Pye was on the porch mewing away. Then she limped past me and up the stairs to my bed. Her little paw was swollen and bleeding! Our landlady's car was towed yesterday so she couldn't take Pye to the vet, so when I got home, Pye was still a sleepy little invalid in a lot of pain. My roommate had set her up on a pillow with her food and water next to her. She had been sleeping all day, probably worn out from running for her life. Her little paw is still swollen to twice the size. Last night it was so nice to have her back in my bed. She sleeps curled up right next to my belly, with her head all buried in her front paws. She is just so damn cute. Not as crazy as Dave's cats, I presume, but I love her so much. I can't stop worrying about her.

fyi

This morning, coming out of the subway, I saw...

A seagull wing. Intact and Unattached. With the bloody bone sticking out.

Guest Post: Life's Small Treasures

Brought to you by T James:

This is a true story.

On Friday night I met mike and a girl he liked named Katie (aka Katie from Marshall Feilds) at O'Donovan's for beers. At one point in conversation, KMF mentioned something about pirates, and I said that I have a friend who actually is a pirate; her name is Patra the pirate and she works at the Blue Moon Cafe. KMF asked me if Patra has a treasure chest. Of course, she has several, I replied, but they're buried throughout the small, uninhabited islands of the Caribbean. Doy. Well, said KMF, some friends of mine gave me a treasure chest and I keep my jewelry in it.

Knowing how much Patra---the second coolest smooth jazz singer ever (that's right, I'm talking about Billy Ocean)---would love that treasure chest, I offered KMF $20 for it. She turned me down. I said $50. KMF said no. I said $100. No. $300. No. $500! No! Then I said, KMF, I will give you ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS for that treasure chest.

mike shouted, he's crazy, he'll do it! but KMF said, I won't sell it for anything!

Right away I devised a plan for mike to have sex with KMF and then steal the treasure chest while she slept, but I was pretty sure mike didn't have enough of a criminal mentality to appreciate the diabolical nature of my plan, and thus the treasure chest eluded my possession.

On Sunday, when I went to the Blue Moon, I told Patra the story of how I almost got her a treasure chest. She was very glad that I didn't pay ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS for it, but I told her that KMF didn't know what she was up against and that I would get that chest if it was the last goddamn thing I ever did. I swear on the graves of Billy Ocean's children that I will get that damn treasure chest, Patra, I said.

Fast forward to last night.

I wanted to buy a new black dress shirt to match the sweet skull belt that I bought last weekend, so I stopped into Savers on Lake Street. If you've ever been to Savers, you know that as soon as you walk in the door, the donation bins sit immediately on the left.

When I walked in, in one of the bins, I swear to God, was a treasure chest. I almost shat a brick of gold when I saw it. It was perfect: kind of small, wooden, a round top, rusty latches. I bought the chest ($2), two dress shirts ($6), and a Yoda-shaped drink-topper ($1) for mike that I'm now giving to the first homeless man I can find to punish mike for not going to the Electric 6 show tonight, mike you jerk.

I first went to Target and got some wrapping paper and some note cards, and then over to the Blue Moon, thinking that before I did my homework I was going to wrap the chest, put one notecard on the outside of the wrapping that said "Patra~ I didn't want to kill her..." and one inside the chest that said "... but she left me no choice", and then leave it there for her to open tomorrow. (Had I shat a brick of gold, I would have turned it into dubloons and put into the chest, too.)

What clever and excellent plan, I thought, a clever and excellent plan, indeed. Patra will go into work, see the gift, read the first card, tear open the wrapping to reveal the chest, see the chest, think that something's amiss, open the chest to reveal the second card, and be left wondering how I procured the chest from KMF. HER MIND WILL REEL WITH TERRIBLE UNCERTAINTY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Yes, excellent indeed.

But Patra picked up someone else's shift and was working. Thinking on the fly, I wrapped my jacket around the chest, walked in and sat down and said, you can't tell anyone about this... and revealed the chest.

Upon seeing the chest, Patra had several violent heart attacks all at the same time, at least three or four or five. I was also pleased; seeing Patra's reaction was like seeing the warm smile of a homeless man drinking through his new Yoda-shaped drink-topper: priceless.

I tried to explain to Patra the story of how I got the chest at Savers, but she refused to believe any story that didn't involve me forming a hot air ballon gang to make a heist from KMF's apartment, which I might still do.

Making lesbians have heart attacks and homeless men smile---it's what I do. Just like Billy says:

'said open the door(Get in the back)Tread on the floor(Get on the track)Yeah (Yeah) Yeah (Yeah)Yeah (Yeah) Yeah (Yeah)Let's goOoooh, woooow, yeahI'll be the sunShining on youHey CinderellaStep in your shoeI'll be your non'stop loverGet it while you canYour non-stop miracleI'm your manGet outta my... Get outta my...WooooooooooooohGet outta my dreamsGet outta my dreamsGet in to my car

the end.

When I grow up...

Things I am not going to be, and I can just give up on:

1. A rapper
2. A rock star
3. A graphic novelist
4. An installation artist
5. Fluent in French
6. A Cirque de Soleil performer
7. A chocolatier
8. A revolutionary
9. A lover of ALL God's creatures
10. Jake Gyllenhaal's sweetheart

And a random scene from my life:
I got up from my desk and walked away from it with my headset still plugged into my phone, thus recreating that scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

And a topic for discussion:
Which is correct:
"be still my heart" or "be still my beating heart"?
If your answer is "it can be either" please weigh in on which came first. Is this a saying from something (literature)? I can't remember. But I have an opinion that one of these two phrases is actually the correct one. And one sounds wrong. Am I wrong? Could be...could be. It also doesn't matter that much. And I really could be wrong. But I just want to find out! Not to prove somebody wrong, but because I want to find out where I got this impression.

For pure robot comedy go to...

Asimo

The videos are quite nice. Especially the one called "Avoiding Obstacles" although it is disappointing that the obstacles are not being thrown at ASIMO and he is having to duck them. He is just going around obstacles outlined on the floor. Still, "Bravo, ASIMO!"

Down at the docks

Yesterday we lazed in the sun on a 2 hour lunch. We went to Uno's at the seaport and sat outside people watching. Turned out to be the best day ever for that, since it was the annual street performer auditions. There were some good ones and some not-so-good ones, and I'm not sure which I liked more. This one hip-hop mime popped and locked to Clapton's In A White Room. Then there was "Walter" whose mike wasn't working and he got really mad at everybody and pitched a fit. There was this hula-hooper who spent 2 minutes of her alotted 3 minutes trying to "win the crowd over with humor." I was like "do what you came here to do! Hula-Hoop!" When she finally did she dropped those hoops all over the place. Also I didn't understand her costume which was black cowboy boots, red tights, a black "dress" (or smock?) and a pink wig. The pièce de résistance was supposed to be this girl dressed like a blue butterfly with a parasol. She was sitting there the whole time and we kept saying "when is that girl going to perform?" She finally did and we found out she was less of a "performer" and more of a "statue" for people to "take pictures with." Sigh. At least the lemonade was delicious.

warning to self

When I get dressed tonight for our fundraiser, I will probably do the following:

1. Drink
2. Try on 6-8 dresses and skirts/shirt combinations
3. Stop to watch Friends or something equally as embarrassing
4. Bother my roommates, let the taller one wrap me in something insane, and then start to wimper and stomp about.
5. Dance to that "Killers" song
6. Decide I should go with a "rocker" look
7. After trying on everything black, realize my legs are somewhat unsightly, what with the pale and the scabs and scars. And realize its gotten colder outside now that its dark.
8. Try to make pants sexy, with tops.
9. Discover the only tops I have are tanktops or sweaters. No way out.
10. Put on jeans and same shirt I always wear.

Ways in which I treat printers/faxes/copiers like pets/babies….

1. Pat them
2. Shush them when they whine
3. Talk to them
4. Console them when they’re injured
5. Wake them up from naps
6. Scold them when they’re being unruly
7. Forgive them
8. Feed them
9. Coo over them with other secretaries
10. Place my hindquarters upon them.

undead in the morning

I saw a hilarious British comedy on Saturday night called “Shaun of the Dead” and the whole time was thinking “Oh this is not so bad. It’s a comedy! I never knew zombies could be so funny! Why, there’s nothing scary about them at all!”
Except that there is. Especially when you wake up in the morning and its very dark and quiet in the house, and it seems like the perfect place to find a zombie. They are not fast. They don’t jump out. Its more like you happen upon them. And then they just don’t stop coming at you. They are persistent is what they are. And also they are trying to eat you alive, which is slightly frightening. I think they’re really strong too, so you may try to barricade yourself in the bathroom, and they’d be like “That’s cool- I’ve got all day. Here I come.” And they’ll just keep pounding away until they get in. Mostly I think you don’t want to trap yourself somewhere with them. Like the shower is a very bad place to be attacked by a zombie. Because they will tear the curtain down, and just throw the big heavy arms around you and kind of fall on you and pin you down. If you have wide open spaces, you can definitely outrun them, but they will probably eventually catch up to you, no matter where you are. Because there’s only so many places you can hide.

I can't dress myself

It comes in two waves:

The first is me at 8:20 this morning, 5 minutes after I should have left. I don't have any clothes on and I think this is the crucial moment where wrong, bad choices began. I stepped into black tights. Purple shoes. A light blue summer skirt with a big frilly thing on the back (it is adorable in the summer). But it sticks to the tights in the front so that it looks like a drawstring skirt. The shirt is a turquoise sweater which, being boatneck, was joined by a white tanktop to cover bra straps. WHA? Business appropriate? I think not. Black hoop earrings. It is kind of Moulin Rouge mixed with NOT MATCHING.

Not realizing the weight of the crisis until a truckload of weird looks on the subway and from all the women in the office, I decided at noon, to take an emergency trip to Century 21. Despite the pain involved in Century 21 at noon (what with its Eurotrash families and "disenchanted" salesclerks), you would suspect some sort of cohesive outfit creation, especially in an emergency such as this. "Keep it simple!" was my mantra. But no. My goal to buy one or two items that would simply correct the issues of the current outfit fell through. I bought a whole new outfit. And I think it is, while at least matching, just as absurd as the first one. It is: a nice tight black and white striped sweater. A gray chinoey-fabric knee length pencil skirt. The problem with this particular item is just the size. They only had size 10 and I was so desperate I bought it anyways. I have wrapped and pinned it, but it is still not really staying on. So its nice and baggy and bunchy. Mmmm, just the way I like it. The tights are gray fishnets (with small eyeholes so still appropriate). I think it really is better. But as I looked at myself in the mirror, I inevitably thought: "Oh no. What have I done?" I haven't left my desk at all yet b/c I'm afraid to face the sad stares of the women in my office. They'll be thinking "Oh sad. That girl obviously went out to buy new clothes and that's what she came up with?"

good news

My boss has specifically instructed me to put up a sign on the microwave that says "NO STINKY FISH!" Love it. LOVE IT.

pathos:hilarity

I am unsure of whether its okay to post the nonhilarious on my blog. Silly, because its my own damn blog and i can do whatever the fuck i want with it. But its personal with me.

I mask a lot of shit with the funny. Obviously everybody does this a little. But my good friend emily and I have been discussing what these online journals mean. We don't treat them exactly like our diaries. Even Emily, who makes no show of telling hilarious stories, but always tries to speak from the heart, purposefully excludes some things. So what do we decide to include?

I wish that the things I call "funny" would read as somewhat sad and truthful. But isn't this because I want somebody out there to understand me? I want someone to think "gosh, that strikes me. This "sooz" has touched me today." I want the pathetic and human and strange behavior around me to read as somewhat universal and beautiful; not just funny.

The problem is I don't really know who is reading this. I can't see their faces. Its not like an audience, where they're sitting in the same room as me. If I could see their faces I would be able to gauge what their reactions are. I would thus be responsible for what I am dishing out. But in this imaginary web space, there is no way to own what you say. So it is safer to try and laugh at things.

Last night I had a very long discussion with my roommate about religion vs. faith. I arrived at a question about "fate" and "predetermined plan." Many people make the statement "It was meant to be." But this ignores time. To say that type of butterfly was meant to change its colors over hundreds of years, is to act like this current stage of the butterfly is the final one. You are not acknowledging where the butterfly will be in 200 years. Roomie said we could imagine God as a constant gardener, always with his fingers in the dirt, always making things work the way they do. Not like a creationist viewpoint. Not like God created the beginning and then just sat back to watch what we would make of things.

I find "God" in everything, but especially science. I find it spiritually exciting that there is an explanation for most things, even the suspicious and "supernatural." I just wish there was a better name for God. Nature? I think the best thing is the action, the drive forward of the universe. And the endlessness of it. Even if it blows up, it was meant to be. Because it was. And that simplest explanation is the most Godly one.

Politically, it is so fucking frustrating when people use their faith to separate the "right" and "wrong." As soon as they take a position of "this should be forgiven" and "this shouldn't be" they are "playing" God. When you leave the Goddening to God, you show your real faith.

Here is one more thought about faith: If you choose to have faith, then are you not admitting that the thing which you have faith in, is not actually there? Faith seems like the biggest choice a person can make. But it is a double-edged sword, b/c by making the choice of faith, you are acknowledging it is a choice. You are saying "I want to believe in this. I don't have any evidence it exists, but I want to believe in it." Its a beautiful thing to do, and humans are so lucky that we have the capacity to think such things, but it also acknowledges that the Jesus, Buddha, etc. is no more "there" than a ghost. I think we see what we want to see or are ready to see; that the volition comes from our brains.

I'll take the "not boring" dish please

I wrote this blogpost, just now, that was so boring! It seriously made me sad that I was trying to make clever remarks about "cubicle behavior" and how it was like comparing lunch condiments to...
It doesn't matter. The truth is, I've got to get out of here! Oh my god, let me out! Please! I am going to scream!
I really thought that at age ____ I would have been well on the way to saving the world, or at least be involved in some sort of theatrical production that traveled to wartorn countries and helped the suffering masses express their pain through the miracle of performance.
I also thought I might have revolutionized "time and space" as measurements in performance, and also that I might have created a new acting training called "pathos:hilarity" and NONE OF THESE THINGS HAVE HAPPENED YET!
I am really not in a good mood today, and I'm trying so hard to cheer the fuck up. Probably too hard. Probably I need to just relax and have a good time, right? Would somebody please point me in the direction of this place of happiness?
Oh my god I want to kick my shoes off and run outside screaming and jump into ground zero like its a freaking swimming pool. I want to get in one of those adorable small cars with a guitar and a jawharp and strike out to the West, and meet Bobby McGee already! I also want to get the fuck out of this office! Did I mention that yet? It's not even so bad an office. I don't want to sit here anymore, though, and its not because I don't get any exercise. I have a hard time buying that the answer to crazy-stir-disease is "going to the gym." I think crazy-stir-disease is a symptom of global rot! Global rot, I tell you!

Nobody heard from that girl ever again. She lives in a cabin on a lake somewhere, all alone. A hermitess. And she holds on to the branch of the tree as she swings. Then one day, many years later, a woodcutter comes along. She is wearing a red cloak, like a riding hood, and she is planting gardens. He watches her for three days and three nights before knocking on her door to ask for supper. And they live forever. I mean like Duncan McLeod, The Highlander.

Is THIS true?

Just now, as I was trying to have compassion for the co-worker who is microwaving a fish (it fills the office with the smell of hot sea and stays all afternoon), he entered the kitchenette and asked me if I got a hair cut. I said "yes."
Him: You can tell. (long pause) Do you cut it often?
Me: What do you mean?
Him: Do you ever let it grow?
(with a hand gesture indicating really long hair)
Me: Yes. I was letting it grow before I cut it.
Him: That's good. If you cut it too much it won't grow back.

Seriously. He seriously believes that. Any thoughts? Is there ANY truth to that statement? Also can we talk about the "You can tell" statement?

Taking on the smells of the world

One of the hardest things about Dzogchen practice for me has been the breathing deep and taking in the suffering of others and and then exhaling nice, comforting thoughts back out to the other beings of the world. It really is hard to do this on the subway because of some of the smells. I've got a real nose for them. Here are some I have identified:
1. dookie
2. crotch rot
3. "I only brush my teeth at night"
4. "If I let this out silently, it doesn't count" (this theory is wrong. You can't compare farting to the "if a tree falls in a forest and nobody hears it" question because trees don't emit noxious gases)
5. peepee
6. Au de Four Days of Drinking and Smoking
7. the soil (is there actually soil in Manhattan still? Yes.)
8. Fish (or is it?)
9. Squid (is that what it is?)
10. Dead animals
11. Rotting Dairy
12. Dredlocks

There is a story of one monk who had not understood compassion fully, so the Buddha presented himself to the monk in the form of a dying dog on the side of the road. The dog's lower half was being eaten my maggots. The monk felt so much sympathy for the animal that he bent down and sucked the maggots out with his teeth. The Buddha transformed from the dog into his customary Buddha shape and told the monk he had now reached a new samsara level. Hmmmm.

A likeable lady

I found the funniest lady in our office today. Before this day I thought of her as the I-Don’t-Like-Gossip-Lady, because she has signs all over her cubicle that say “gossip hurts…don’t do it!”
Today I noticed her mug with our company’s logo on it. I said, “how does a girl go about getting one of those?” (Except I phrased it normally, and not like I was in the film Newsies) She told me when her group was relocated uptown after 9/11, the company wanted to do something nice for them. Then she paused. “So they gave us all coffee mugs….To collect our tears in!” and she burst out laughing so hard, and patted me conspiratorially on the shoulder. We both laughed for an abnormal amount of time, like when you’re both almost sad at the truth of such a thing. I promise I will NEVER gossip about that lady. She rules.

A script to remember

http://www.dailyscript.com/scripts/A_Walk_to_Remember.pdf