Just sayin'...

Odd Days: The Perp Walk

As I was running this morning, I encountered two cars that had been pulled over by the police, presumably for speeding. In each case, I looked curiously at the driver as I ran by. Aware of my scrutiny, the first fellow played with his nose and looked down so as not to make eye contact. The second left his nose alone but looked all over the place -- the mountains, the road, the passenger seat -- everywhere but at me. I was thinking, "Wow, the perp walk is excruciating for these guys even though they don't know me from Adam's off-ox."

And that got me thinking. It seems there are three types of people: those who like to fly under the radar, those who can't bear to fly under the radar, and the oblivious (or perhaps impervious). My sister, the psychologist, calls them introverts, extroverts, and in-betweens.

We discussed those contrasting behaviors numerous times as she and I (one bald, the other buzzed) ventured to the grocery store, to the movies, to the OSU campus, or just to the front door to greet visitors. To hear her talk, it is almost unbearable for her to appear bald in public. She doesn't like to be conspicuous. It would be anathema to her to leave the house without her wig.

I on the other hand, frequently forgot about my buzz cut and consequently often left the house without a wig and occasionally without even a hat. I became aware that I looked different only when someone was overly nice to me or spoke to me slowly and quietly.

But if I ventured out with my sister in tow, I was more likely to remember my wig. I knew she worried that if I looked like a freak, she'd be a freak by association. And then the worst of the worst would happen. People would stare at her. Ah, but what she didn't realize was that I was doing her a huge favor. When we walked down the street together or went into the oncology waiting room, all the stares and sympathetic glances went directly to me and she became invisible!

Odd Days: Tax Season & Child Porn

It's tax season, y'all! I realize that for most of you tax season starts on April 14, but for me, it starts a little earlier. I bring this up only because my erratic posting will undoubtedly continue to be somewhat erratic until the end of tax season.

That's not to say I don't have anything to post. In fact, this time of year I am bursting with pent-up blogs. They include hilarious stories of fiscal misdeeds, reports of behaviors that, well, astound and dumbfound me. I could even report on my own foolishness in answering a phone call knowing full well who it is and how long he will spend trying to convince me to claim his grandmother's poodle-training class as a medical expense.

But some things are just too hot for the airwaves, whether it's child pornography or tax policy. I mean, who doesn't have a strong opinion about most things? But is that opinion ready for prime time?

One experience I do *not* want to have in this lifetime is to answer the phone only to have a client demand an explanation for why I said (on my blog) that the world would be a better place without Rick Perry or Rick Santorum or George Bush or Clarence Thomas or the republican party. You see my problem?

Chuck Berry: child molester?

When I was a sophomore in college Chuck Berry performed at Houseparty Weekend. He sang in the indoor hockey rink and for a while my girlfriend and I were about 10 feet from him. She was on my shoulders and I was sloshing around in the 1/4" of beer that covered the floor. Everybody in the place was yelling and singing and going wild.

This is a favorite.



I heard that on the radio a couple of weeks ago and it got me thinking: Would that song be acceptable today? It's about an underage girl dressing sexily and attracting men. When I got the video on YouTube the first comment was, "There would be something creepy about a guy in his forties singing about "Sweet Little Sixteen" if the music didn't rock so much!"

People are certainly more sensitive these days than they were in the '60s, in the "bigger stick up their butts" sense. Janet Jackson exposed her nipple for 1.5 seconds on TV and it created a national crisis. Rick Santorum is a viable candidate for president, for Christ's sake! But what about Chuck and "Sweet Little Sixteen"?

I'm pretty sure we can all agree that protecting children is the #1 priority of every adult human. Nothing is more important. The question is what to protect them from.

It is reprehensible if someone uses a child to create pornography, so it clearly is right for that kind of child porn to be illegal. But what about child porn if no child was used, maybe an animation or a person of legal age playing a child?

There is an argument that pornography in general incites sex crime. However that issue has been examined by many reputable groups, including Richard Nixon's Commission on Obscenity and Pornography (which was stacked with conservatives), and not one found a link between porn and sex crime. [Note: Ronald Reagan's Meese Commission also found porn to be benign, but the final report was doctored because of dissatisfaction with the actual findings.]

A few years ago the Supreme Court ruled that simulated child porn is protected by the First Amendment. How do you feel about that? Where should the line be drawn?

Odd Days: OMG I Forgot to Have Children

I have a t-shirt with those very words on it. I'm pretty sure it was my father who gave it to me. (He also gave me my "Ask Me About My Tattoo" t-shirt.) I thought it odd that he would give me such a shirt while it was still possible for me to have children. But now I'm thinking that maybe it was a hint.

Anyway, I thought of the shirt while I was flying back home from my second stint in the Columbus home of my sister and her four kids. While my sister did battle with the Red Devil (a particularly toxic chemo drug) and while her husband tried to train the dog to fetch his crutches, I got to play super mom. Or maybe I should say, I got a lesson in why I would have made a lousy super mom. Here's the short version: can't cook (and don't want to learn), hate messes, treasure my 9:30 bedtime, like sipping wine and listening to Fresh Air in peace and quiet just before dinner on my back porch.

Lest you think I am a curmudgeonly old-fart aunt, let me say that I *love* my nieces and nephews. I'm always excited to see them, I love to play with them (even though I "suck" at Black Ops), and I'm depressed when I leave.

But then I return to my regular life and I remember why I forgot to have children.

Heartland - Willie Nelson & Bob Dylan.

That came up under random play tonight, and my first thought was, "Why in the world would Willie Nelson want to sing with Bob Dylan?" And why would Dylan record when he had a bad cold?

It's a really nice song, though. Willie can make anyone look good.

A spotting.

About 45 minutes ago I was driving home from the grocery store. I was on the edge of a residential area, taking a back route home, when the biggest bird I've ever seen flew right in front of my car, about 15 feet away. I was like, "HOLY CRAP!" So I slowed down and watched it fly away, and I was like, "HOLY CRAP!" (again). It was a bald eagle!

What I can't understand.

With a fan like this, how could the 49ers have lost the NFC Championship game?

The first fuck.

I was going to blog about Chuck Berry today, but this just popped into the old beaner. Chuck will have to wait.

A couple of days ago I posted that I do not believe in any man-described god. I also consider myself a person of science for whom unquestioned belief has no credibility. I think that the theory of evolution is essentially, if not entirely, correct. But I also think that the process of evolution is guided by some form of higher intelligence.

Pure evolutionists claim that after billions of years all kinds of things could happen that would lead to our world today. But what about sexual reproduction, for example? It is a form of natural selection, but how did it get started? Let's imagine. Many kinds of animals (and plants) reproduce sexually, but let's use humans for visualization purposes.

If the first human was an asexual being with an indistinguishable, smooth crotch with only two holes for excretion, what accident led to the first male organs? More significant, how did the first female appear with her complex reproductive system? And did these two odd mutations just happen to be around the same fire on a Saturday night, with Neanderthals beating sticks on rocks, and look at each other, and nod, and decide to got into the cave for a bit of a boink, thereby starting the entire process?

It seems unlikely, unless Neanderthals had invented martinis by then.

I do hope to someday discover the nature of the higher intelligence, but I know it will not happen in my lifetime.

Odd Days: Lest you be judged...

Believe it or not, the circle of people I call friends and the circle I call excellent friends are not coincident. Most of the time, I consider an excellent friend to be someone who is interested in me and my life (and I theirs). But I also include those who pretend to be interested, as long as they pretend so well that I can't tell they are pretending.

I remember once having a couple of theretofore excellent friends over for dinner. They were with us for six hours and not once did either of them ask a question of any sort -- about us, our lives, our opinions. I don't always notice such things, but I did then because six hours is a long time.

And what about the "friends" you so eagerly meet up with at a party. When it's your turn to speak, you notice that your friend's eyes are wandering, wandering, looking everywhere but at your face, no doubt looking for a person to chat with who won't have the audacity to chat back.

Or how about those friends who ask you a question and in the middle of your answer, interrupt with, "Oh wow, will you look at that beautiful ____ (glass, dress, mountain, toilet... whatever)." Then, "Oh sorry, what were you saying?"

So a couple of days ago I was having a serious and interesting telephone conversation with my mother when what should I see outside my office window but a mother fox and her kit! "Holy crap!" I yelled into the phone loud enough to stop my mother in mid sentence. Then I oooo'd and ahhhh'd for a good 60 seconds or more before I excitedly described what I was seeing.

On the other end of the line there was silence. It sounded a lot like disconcerted silence. Then my mother asked, "Should I call back later?"

I'm thinking it's a good thing I'm her daughter because I'm probably not on her "excellent friends" list anymore.