The scale's fuct in this town

Vegas.

Big hotels. Bigger city blocks. Even bigger tourists.

Not that I can complain, I looked fucking good down there. Especially according to the the scales in my hotel room, set a judicious 10 lbs lighter.

*Well, maybe I will partake of that international buffet*.

Does anyone really fall for that maybe-you're-not-such-a-fat-bastard-after-all ploy?

Mind you...how often can you get pork dumplings, quesadillas, fish sticks, dry ribs, shrimp cocktail, teryaki and potatoes au gratin all in the same sitting?



oh yeah... and don't forget the PR.

About us, the bitches

We cherish our style guides
like most treasure chocolate.
And savor bad puns,
etymology and
good, strong coffee
a little more often
than we care to admit.

My hero

I could talk on and on about
all the amazing spandex costumes
on spandexman.com.

Underroos, fetishes, man-boys,
Plato's notion of true love,
packages, the beauty of
skin-colour fabric.

Or I could just freak out about the "Click to change" view buttons on the site. That, in my humble opinion, really sells these unitards.

So much expression.
They're jaunty and casual and you can tell
these men just love wearing them.
Mega panache.

So je ne sais quois...

Who's dreams? Your dreams? My dreams.

I met an amazing woman this summer, who, for the most part (if you glanced over the tragic relationship with the man who she was with for 20 years, whom she still co-owned her home with, but did not live with since he had decided to have an affair with the renter of their previous home on the same property about five years ago, but whose son and his girlfriend she still entertains as if it were her own son and guest in the home that his father is not allowed to live in since he still has 'relations' with the new woman), has had a good life. She has a lovely little house with a beautiful garden, pictures of her travels all over the world, and a smile that beckons even the most shy out of the shadows.

I want those things (save the tragic relationship, which, hopefully, is behind me) now. I want to have the intensely satisfying career and the cozy home on the beautiful property and wisdom etched into the backs of my hands from the sands of Morocco and from washing potatoes to store for the winter. I want free time to figure out the best recipe for using up the last of the huckleberries and accolades from my peers all over the world. And I have to wait. I have to wait probably as long as she did, and considering she is 40 years older than me, that might be quite some time.

But, in the age of immediate gratification and lack of patience for developing self, that sounds like a lifetime. Strange thing is, it is. And it probably felt like it then.

No syns for synonym

So you you intend to type "bacteria" into an online dictionary search field, but key in synonym by mistake. Curious, you think to yourself — is there a synonym for synonym? Guess what.

There is no synonym for synonym.

Paglia snacks on Antoinette

Heck. I've always gotten a kick out of rubble rousing Camille Paglia. She certainly knows how to get the media's attention — at least she did back in the days of Madonna-styled feminism (which by the way I prefer to the current Britney-styled mommyism).

Speaking of bitches... I have to give her some sort of nod for dishing about our queen bitch "Marie Antoinette and why she is back in vogue..."

Personally, I would have liked to see her take on gen y in this view, but alas, she went the way of post 9/11 times. Everybody's doing it. And Paglia has never really been a vanguard when it comes to theory.

Invisible cake is so much easier to digest. Though not half as fulfilling.

Shadowing art works

Feed the right side of your brain writing from Vancouver's left side: Doppelganger magazine. They are devoted to publishing lively, intelligent, and critical writing on visual art and literature.

They are interested in boundaries.
Boundaries, they are interested in.
Interested in boundaries, they are.
In boundaries, they are interested.
Are they interested in boundaries?

Love affairs are like words. If you stare at them too long they deconstruct before your eyes and lose their meaning. It is better to scan them briefly to get the sentence of your heart.

Technological Smackdown

So the boy has been in Vegas for T=longtime.

Since he's been gone I've learned a lot.

a) I touch my face too much
b) If I let my hair air dry, I really do look like Lou Ferrigno
c) I have WAY over plucked my right eyebrow
d) bathrobe...mmm, hot

Thank you iChat, for crushing my burgeoning self image.

Reptilian hot buttons

Coco Chanel, the awesome bitch that she is, just sent me this passage...
because it made her think of me:

Rapaille subscribes to the triune brain theory, which describes three
distinct brains: the cortex, limbic, and reptilian. Beneath the
cortex, the seat of logic and reason, is the limbic, which houses
emotions. Camouflaged underneath those is Rapaille's baby--the
reptilian--the layer wired by our biological primal needs like sex,
reproduction, and survival.

"The reptilian always wins"--that's Rapaille's mantra. "So you have to
discover the reptilian hot button, whatever you want to do--design an
airplane, sell diamonds--what is the reptilian brain?" Whereas bad
advertising only taps into the cortex ("Buy this paper towel to clean
up a spill!"), mediocre ads appeal to the cortex and the limbic ("Buy
this paper towel to clean up a spill and reduce stress!"). But truly
effective campaigns nail all three ("Buy this paper towel to clean up
a spill, reduce stress, and satisfy your maternal reptilian desire to
relieve your son's shame at making the spill in the first place!").

I can't wait to locate my reptilian hot buttons. Hisss.

Freshtastic fall

Something monumental has happened to me this summer — what with a broke-down computer, a move and a wedding to end all weddings — but I haven't had time to think about what all of it means, in the grand scheme of things. I think it's time to pool my thoughts for a spell and just soak in it. Then I will towel myself off, wipe the rot off and move on and on and on and on.

I think last weekend was the final polish on my summer monument, a greasy reality shot if you will. After spending a lovely, trying and reflective weekend with a gang of old friends, I know it's time to wipe the slate — 'cause the slate is chalk full of kack. I think the only way I can shuck the husk is to walk away. Shuck anything that caters to my old self (this is sounding like the premise for a self-help book).

But the job is a sticking point. As is my location in this wide world. I am unsure of how to unseat myself. I guess I just need to dive into the pool and portage myself to Toronto. Voyeur-geur. So if anyone is driving that way in the next couple of months, let me know. I make an excellent co-pilot.

Why cremation is the way to go

Sex with dead bodies is like so totally taboo. But three Wisconsin Men don't think so. Their theory? If you don condoms, "sex with dead bodies" is the new black... Tres macabre.

And yet, tres blase. These guys are totally "normal" dudes who decided this would make for an interesting way to pass time. How do three people all agree they have a desire to hae sex with dead bodies? Just how do you bring that up as a topic of conversation? The mundanity of it all is what creeps me out the most.

Thanks Drudge for reminding me why cremation is the way to go, when you decide to go.

Nature Podcasts

When I was growing up, I was only allowed to watch a half hour of television programming per day. But I could extend that limit if I was watching a movie like the Wizard of Oz or The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, or Seven Brides for Seven Brothers — stuff my parents like to watch.

Then one evening, my parents decided to amend the half hour rule by adding that I was only able to watch an hour of nature shows or public programming per day. (Even though it seemed out of the blue, I'm guessing my dear mom had tea with the other mothers that morning where they had all agreed that our social health and welfare depended on us viewing killer whales slaughtering baby seals.) Trust me, slow shots of a lion sleeping, voice professional with coma-inducing narrative, and no muppets can kill an ADD child. And make one even more unpopular on the playground.

But now that I am old like my parents I am absolutely into coma-inducing programming that investigates meaningful things — like male infertility, how the brain categorises visual information and and the death of a star.

If you want to get all Nature with me, have a listen to Nature's Podcasts. Learning is cool kids.