A fat woman at the office, sitting at her desk finger-fondling a frosted gingerbread man, whether because it was “male” or because it was edible, I’m not sure. It’s no less disturbing either way.
Parenthetically: I don’t think she knew anyone could see her . . .
Theres a new restaurant opening up in our local shopping center: Pastagina. What is that — pasta for women?
Even the logo is highly suggestive . . .
Does anyone else remember when flight attendants — “stewardesses,” we called them — used to be pretty? Now they’re consistently the least attractive people on the aircraft.
This is the best email I’ve had all week. Let me preface it by saying that I don’t know the sender, so I changed her name to protect the “innocent.”
From: anne sexton [mailto:annie-s@hotmail.com]
Subject: Teacher?Only in Southern California could someone so woefully ignorant be a teacher.
Your childish clinging to some 1950’s idea of masculinity in order to bolster your own ego is pathetic, and the sad thing is, you’re teaching your son to be equally disrespectful. Wow. Nice parenting. In short, I’m sorry you have a small dick. It doesn’t give you the right to disrespect women.
Oh, And GO BEARS, mother fucker.
Love,
Anne Sexton
PhD candidate in English, UC Berkeley (ranked #1 in the world for their English program. Where’s USC ranked?)
Sweet! Here’s my reply:
Hi Anne -
You sound very angry about something but I’m not sure what.
I don’t know where the USC English program is ranked but I know where the football team is ranked! #1, BABY! FIGHT ON, TROJANS! See you Nov. 10 for another beating!
Also, I’m pretty sure “motherfucker” is one word, not two, Miss “#1 in the world” English program.
Love,
Paul
P.S. Send a picture!
From wnbc.com: Even More Famous Women: How They’ve Aged
It’s a photo slideshow. My comment after viewing it:
Another study quizzed graduating master’s degree students who had received job offers about whether they had simply accepted the offered starting salary or had tried to negotiate for more. Four times as many men — 51 percent of the men vs. 12.5 percent of the women — said they had pushed for a better deal. Not surprisingly, those who negotiated tended to be rewarded — they got 7.4 percent more, on average — compared with those who did not negotiate.
A Carnegie Mellon professor has figured out why men make more than women for the same job.
I actually figured that out myself the first time I heard about it. Salaries are negotiable. You can’t pay someone less than they’re willing to work for. Hence, women must be willing to work for less money. It’s the only possible explanation.
UPDATE: I should have emphasized that 7.4 percent is just the difference in starting salaries. If we make the reasonable assumption that men continue to be more aggressive in seeking raises and promotions throughout their careers, the monetary difference potentially becomes very large indeed.
I’m explaining to my 8th-grade kid that his mom is pretty attractive for a mom, but he’s not seeing it.
I list off several of his friends’ unattractive moms by way of example, and then ask him, “Which of your friends has a better-looking mom than Mom?”
“Lopez,” he says, naming one of the kids on his hockey team.
OK, I’d forgotten about her . . .
A day care worker in Tulsa, Okla., was looking after eight children ages 7 and younger.
One of the kids, a a 2-year-old boy, would not be quiet for nap time, so she bound his hands and covered his mouth with masking tape.
That silenced him — permanently. The boy died after several days on life support.
I never did trust people enough to have them raise my kid. Never did.
Now if you were to respond that the average day care worker is no less capable than the average American mom of raising a child without killing it, I’d say — you’re probably right!
I’m just talking about my kid . . .
Make your man feel capable . . .
Good: “You are so strong!” “You are so smart!“
Bad: “Are you sure you know where you’re going?”
These are just examples, but you get the idea . . .
I’m listening to an online interview with Kent Beck, Cynthia Andres and Tom DeMarco. My son hears Andres’ voice and says, “You’ve got a woman teaching you about technology?!”
“What a sexist you are,” I say.
“I’m just repeating what you always say: ‘Oh, women don’t know anything about computers.’”
“When did I ever say that?”
“You say it all the time. ‘Men are a lot smarter than women.’”
I deny this vehemently, and not just because my wife is sitting across the room.
Meanwhile, Andres is saying something: Blah blah blah Kent blah blah blah . . .
“Ken!?” the boy says. “Who’s advising you? Barbie?”
I bought a bagel this morning from the company cafeteria, as I often do.
“$1.08,” the woman at the register said.
I noticed she had a new haircut. Not to hit on her or anything, but I thought it looked good and said so.
“It’s still $1.08,” she said.
There’s entirely too much cynicism in the world . . .
Women control [all] the wealth.
Don’t worry about it, Tom . . . because we control the women.
Connecting through talking activates the pleasure centers in a girl’s brain. We’re not talking about a small amount of pleasure. This is huge. It’s a major dopamine and oxytocin rush, which is the biggest, fattest neurological reward you can get outside of an orgasm.
According to Brizendine, thoughts about sex enter women’s brains once every couple of days; for men, thoughts about sex occur every minute.
Both numbers sound low to me. Sexy sexy sex sex sex . . . (sorry, thinking out loud) . . .
It’s not so much that [women] have to make a million choices; more that, having chosen, we are haunted by the possibility that our choices might be wrong. If we stay at home to care for our children, we worry about wasting education and dissipating talent and that no one takes us seriously. If we commit ourselves to careers, we’re tormented that our children are suffering because we’re not there to help them learn to read and we’re late for the nativity play.
As a result, we frequently try to avoid choosing at all, as if it might be possible somehow to have a full-time job, and children, and a good relationship, and friends, and a tidy house, and be thin, and wear the right clothes, and eat in the right restaurants, and possibly be having a really sexy affair as well, complete with suitable underwear… the more we achieve, the more the horizons of achievement stretch away. And we’re completely strung out and not actually doing anything properly.
Somebody was retelling a Margaret Cho joke about getting a boyfriend to help out around the house. The punch line:
Just in time for Mother’s Day, Save the Children has published its seventh annual State of the World’s Mothers report on newborn mortality.
As usual, the U.S. takes a beating:
Continue reading HW Explains the U.S. Newborn Mortality Rate
I couldn’t help noticing that Harriet Quimby is a lot prettier than Harriet Tubman.
