They take a polaroid and let you go. Pointless blog post-o-rama! I had two of the most gruesome experiences today while lunch-breaking/walking around SoHo/window shopping/lusting after things I desperately want but won't buy because I'm ridiculously cheap:

1) I was walking behind this woman for about a block; she was wearing this pair of very tall, brown, leather, pointy-toe boots. Instead of a heal, picture two unsharpened #2 pencils, only thinner. Yeah, these boots were creepy. And she couldn't walk in them! Seriously, she was standing at the most drastic angle (like when kids go ice skating and their parents are too stupid to know that you're supposed to go down half a size when you rent ice skates, so the kids can't skate because their ankles angle in and they're about to die...like that, only her ankles went out instead of in). I'm walking behind this woman, and I'm waiting for her heal to break and her ankle to snap. And I could hear the snap in my head! And I thought I was going to barf! *shudder*

2) I proceeded to return to my office building and get into the overly-crowded elevator. Someone smelled like a hamster's cage, it was horrible. And then I
realized the smell was not rodent-related. It was the stench of the McDonald's the guy next to me was holding. *shudder*

Cutting the voltage to your powerlines. Yay!

This revolution has just begun.

In my more bitter moments (usually when I’ve blown over two hundred dollars during an evening in a club), I sometimes imagine that lapdancing itself, in its modern incarnation as a widespread entertainment form, is not the logical evolutionary product of striptease, or a sexual shell game designed by clip joint hucksters, but rather an insidious invention, nay, a SECRET WEAPON, cleverly designed by a cabal of wily feminist supervillains to distract, befuddle, and weaken otherwise productive male members (pun intended) of Western society.

Damnit, he's on to us. Who told?

Up with the Revolution! G-string power!

Turn to the left. Best snippet of a conversation I ever overheard:

A well-dressed man to his female companion: "Yeah, I meant to google Himmler today, but I forgot." -Broadway & Spring Street

We make love together. Yes, I know V-Day has passed and I should really move on, but I thought this contained some nice background information for those of us who resent Christianity's annoying faux-assimilation into our daily lives. Hmm, maybe that's just me.

Anyway, I like the whole year o' sex thing. Paganism is a whole lot cooler than any of us want to admit. Stupid monotheism ruining everything for us. Where's a good, guilt-free orgy when you need one?

Owner of a lonely heart. One of my co-workers has been going around wishing everyone "Happy VD." Apparently, it's been her tradition since high school.

Also, thank the good Lord my boyfriend does not look like this:

Happy Syphilis, everyone!

Find out what it means to me. This is the kind of shit that pisses me off. "Traditionally Jewish women don't like sex but now we are known for giving head." Where in the hell did that come from? It's just as bad as any dragon lady asian or big-vagina black mammy stereotype. And this is even more insulting because it's coming from a Jew-produced magazine that's meant to "empower" us and discuss our "issues." These Jews think they have to prove themselves to a world that hates them. Instead of rebelling or giving the world the finger, they roll over and play the game. "I may be a Jew, but my penis is 18 feet long." It's Philip Roth, self-hating Jew, identity-crisis bullshit, and I refuse to be a part of it.

My issues do not rest with my need to "overcome" my Judaism by proving my mettle through my sexual prowess. My issues rest with my people degrading me be defining me as nothing more than a hoover-mouthed cum bin.

I will not accept this arrogant bigotry from the goyem, and I will not accept it from the tribe, either.

I pushed you too far. Are you shitting me? No, seriously, Hollywood...you and I need to have a chat. This time, you've gone too far.

These kinds of things make me want to break something.

Right back where we started from. Sarmo and I saw Luke from The O.C. at Cafe Europa on 6th Avenue today. He was eating a sandwich with some of his buddies. He's much skinnier and blonder than I thought he'd be. Also a bunch cuter.

Hell yes. I have just found the best, most appropriate Valentine ever. Like whoa.

As usual, the internet is populated by people who are more creative and articulate than I can ever hope to be, so, as usual, I glom onto their work. Sweet.

Maps. I'm sure everyone and their mother has seen this by now, but still...neat.

Dragging in your deep shag. Yes, fine, I am a Dan Savage groupie. For any of you poor saps who missed his interview in the A.V. Club, he makes a really interesting argument regarding straight-male sexuality, one that whole-heartedly agree with. Yes, yes, I am a big ol' feminist, but I have to agree with Betty Friedan that machismo kills. Here, Savage reiterates an argument we've been batting around every since Susan Faludi came out with Stiffed. Straight-male sexuality is defined in the negative by everything he's not: He's not a "fag" and not a "woman," so who is he?

I feel so sorry for straight guys. Because their sex lives are a terror, and are really circumscribed by straight guys policing the behavior of other straight guys—"Hey, you're a fag"—and by gay guys policing their behavior, and straight women. Paradoxically, straight guys run the world, but sexually, they're so imprisoned and it's not just a prison of their own creation. A girl goes to college and eats a little pussy and gets over it, and nobody thinks she has to be a lesbian because she did that disgusting pussy-eating thing once or twice. A straight guy goes to college and once or twice gets drunk and goes down on another guy, and if it gets out there, nobody's ever going to think he's straight, ever. It doesn't matter how much pussy he eats after that, or how many kids he fathers by a woman, he's secretly a fag. There's a problem with straight-male sexual identity where it's just a mass of negatives. It's not defined really by anything positive. Being a straight guy is not being a fag, not being a woman, and not doing anything that fags or women do, like have feelings or sit-ups or anything.

Half my mail sometimes is just straight guys going, "She put a finger in my butt. I liked it. Am I gay?" because he was penetrated. Or from women going, "I put my finger in his butt. He liked it. Is he gay?" And it's very sad. You wonder why straight guys are all so endlessly perverse. Like I said earlier, all the poo-eaters are guys. And it's just because there's so much more pressure laid on men about male sexuality that just squeezes out in weird, perverse ways. It's kind of tragic. It's also tragic that straight guys have so little access to sex. And it's always their fault....And men do sort of bear all responsibility—whatever's going wrong is completely their fault, women are always the victims. I just think there's no respect for male sexuality in this empathy culture that's shaped by and defined by a female perspective on relationships and emotions. I believe that if you marry somebody and you're gonna make the commitment to be faithful, you should be faithful. If your wife doesn't have sex with you for five years, I think you should fuck somebody else. [Laughs.] And it's not your fault if you're cheating at that point. You get a pass. Women are told that being in love means you don't want to fuck anybody else, so I get all this mail from all these women who are freaked out 'cause their boyfriend or lover or husband looked at some Internet porn. "Oh, he's got me, why would he look at Internet porn?" 'Cause he may have you, but he wants more. The measure of a man's devotion isn't that he doesn't want to fuck other people. It's that he doesn't fuck other people.

Also, Hell yes!

I actually think the solution to homophobia is eradicating misogyny. I think a lot of homophobia is hatred of women repackaged, 'cause gay men seem to preoccupy homophobes the most. It's usually about anal sex, and gay men are perceived as taking on the woman's role, and women are despised. The woman's role is less-than. And in a male-supremacy culture, men who take on the woman's role willingly kind of freak out some of the dudes. If you could eradicate misogyny, homophobia would evaporate. That's why I always tell women, "If you're dating a homophobe, you're dating a guy who's secretly a misogynist, who secretly hates you. And you shouldn't."

Sit down. Stand up. MOTHERFUCKIN' WORD!

Numb and tired and perfect for the working day. I've been incredibly bored at work this week because my editors have been in Boston, so I've been trolling my faithful procrastination Web sites. Two interesting things I've gained from friendster:

1. This guy I went to camp with is now a woman who goes by the name Zoe. Interesting choice, considering I'm pretty sure his given name is Brian. Also, s/he's a lesbian.

2. Bennington College makes me think of Bret Easton Ellis. And that is not a compliment.

Right here's the spot. Apparently, January 24 is widely thought to be the worst day of the year. The New York Daily News (hehehe I am citing the Snooze as a reputable news source. I'm hilarious) reported that "British psychologist Cliff Arnall cited an avalanche of evidence testifying to the singular suckiness of January 24, including but not limited to the day's distance from Christmas (too far to look forward to next year's, with many citizens still mired in the debt of last year's); failed New Year's resolutions (with an excess of smoking, drinking, and overeating); and a uniquely bleak horizon, with no three-day weekends, just one unreliable holiday, plus tax forms and crap weather."

I believe it. January 24 was the day I went back to work after returning from Israel. Culture shock + jet lag + the flu do not a happy employee make.

Many thanks to The Stranger for pointing out more reasons why January 24 blows.

On the bright side, the next time you're having a bad day, you can think to yourself, "At least it's not January 24."

Out of body experience. Holy hell, how funny is this? I would love for it to be true. Love love LOVE!

Oh my goodness I missed the Slog.

You're like an empty cup. Arguably profound Jane Austen quote of the day:

She hoped to be wise and reasonable in time; but alas! alas! she must confess to herself that she was not wise yet.

-Persuasion