I Don't Want This for Christmas #7

Man Eaters From Outer Space Waterproof Vibrator
This may be the single dumbest thing I've ever seen, even among the rogue's gallery I've already posted. But it's actually a bit different. It's got a vibrator inside and (I believe) you squeeze it to control the vibrator. The business end of this thing? That's right, it's the mouth. But unlike almost everything else, you don't actually go into anything, you just stroke across that mouth/channel.

Don't ask me,I'm not buying one; but the reviews I've seen haven't exactly been raves.

Oh yeah, and it's glow-in-the-dark. So if you wake up in the middle of the night it's easy to find.

Well, if you're like most people you're probably stressed out and tired and ready for Christmas to come and be gone already. Hopefully these toys gave you a laugh.

Merry Christmas, folks.

I Don't Want This for Christmas #6

Penthouse Laura Doone 1974 hairy pussy
This will give me nightmares. It's what I always pictured Ethel Merman's pussy looked like.

There's an episode of the 60s cartoon Super Chicken where the villian was a giant toupee, and this looks a helluva lot like it.

They should sell this to compete with Fleshlight's Stamina Training Units, because all you have to do is take a good look at this and it'll cool things down rapidly.

I Don't Want This For Christmas #5

Lotus Pussy Masturbator
Every time I think I see the worst male toy out there, I stumble on something worse. And if you think it looks bad from that angle, follow the link and take a look at the side.

I have no idea what this thing is supposed to be. I assume it's supposed to be a flower stamped onto a pair of disembodied boobs, but to me it looks like roadkill of some kind.

I'm not even sure where you're supposed to stick your john thomas.

I think it's a sex toy for a horror movie. If I saw that thing attached to my crotch, I'd scream like a little girl.

I Don't Want This For Christmas #4

Wet suction cup Setsugetsuka

Actually, I almost do want this--it's so insane how can you not like it? Four entries, no waiting! I'd suggested to a friend it would work great as a dildo/vibrator holder, like a knife rack on a kitchen countertop.

If you really want a hoot, read the description in its tortured english.

I Don't Want This For Christmas #3

Cyberflesh Mouth and Breasts
Two good things that don't go together here. The photo is actually less ridiculous here because typically I see it pictured upright, where it looks like some kind of alien. Here it looks like mutant fish.

Even if I were stuck on a lake by myself with nothing but a tacklebox and that gawdawful smelly garlic cheese bait, would I ever consider fucking this thing. Seriously--someone had to look at this thing and say, yeah, I'd sick my cock in that. Really???

Actually, that's a video I'd like to see on one of the x-rated tube sites. I think it would be comedy gold.

I Don't Want This For Christmas #2

This is in Japanese but you can figure it out from the photos.

There's so much easy comedy there that I'm not going to bother. I'll treat it seriously: on one hand it looks somewhat safe, in that if anything goes wrong, the toy portion of it is going to fall off. There is no firm physical connection between you and it.

On the other hand, even if it works, it looks like you could end up with friction burns. That's one of the last parts of my body that I want burned. One day I was cutting up chili peppers and got it on my hands, which eventually got there, and I thought that was hellish enough.

I Don't Want This For Christmas #1

I can't believe they sell these things.

Dirk Yates KP-20 Cyberskin Knob Polisher
WTF??? This must be a gag gift, because it worries me to picture the kind of psycho ex-vet or (worse) vet-wannabe who'd want to stick his dick into that thing. Who in their right mind would want to fuck a grenade? And if you do, then something made out of rubber isn't going to do it; you need to get down to the Army Surplus store and pick a (hopefully) inert one and do it right.

Dude, Where's My Party?

I was going to do this in January and leave December for frivolity, but there's so much going on right now that I'll get this out of the way and leave the rest of December for frivolity.

I'll start with this, a letter which appeared in the November 19th edition of The Economist magazine (p. 19).

Sir—I wonder why I, along with countless other Americans, bother to follow the Republican race at all, as none of the candidates is providing a compelling vision to challenge Mr Obama in next year's election. One reason for remaining interested could be that the dramas which unfold each week are yet another type of sensationalistic reality television. Perhaps politics could learn something from that format, by kicking candidates off the island, making them leave the house, or allowing a sharp-tongued Simon Cowell to berate their performance and decide upon their legitimacy.

A weekly voting system to get the clowns off the stage does not at this point seem such a terrible idea, especially since the prize is the nomination for a run at the chance to be the ruler of the free world.
Jeffrey Gu
Philadelphia

I was all set to write a big post suggesting just that, only taken to the next level: we simply have the presidential election handled AMERICAN IDOL style. You gather everyone who wants to be president, weed them down to a managable number, and then every week they come out and "perform" and the herd is successively thinned. People could vote by phone or on the internet.

Is it really very far from what we're doing now?

Consider this, which made news earlier this week: Donald Trump says yes, he'll moderate Republican debate in Iowa.

How can you take the election seriously if the GOP can't take their own debate seriously? Was Tom Bergeron too busy? Ryan Seacrest wanted too much money? If you want me to watch, get Heidi Klum to take a day away from Project Runway. I'm sure she could manage it.

To listen to NPR, of all places, the Democrats seem disheartened and demoralized. Yet the Republicans are taking no chances at winning the election. Mitt Romney is a Ken doll, and as The Economist (hey, it's a good source) has been putting it, the GOP has an anybody-but-Romney mindset. Donald Trump was a stunt candidate. Michelle Bachman is too much of a loon even by current standards. Rick Perry looks like an idiot in debates. Herman Cain was interesting but couldn't keep his pants on, Ron Paul is C. Montgomery Burns, Newt Gingerich is an asshole no matter how articulate he is, and the rest are a chorus line.

If you want the true American Idol experience, go here and look at the candidates. My guy? I like Vern Wuensche: the candidate who would win if the mainstream media were still radio.

I vote in the elections, and I'll vote in this next one. But it won't be for any of this pack of dogs.

Mooks

I found this on Goodshit, one of my favorite blogs (and not just for the nudes, though that is appreciated too). They got it from the Urban Dictionary.

Urban Dictionary: MOOK

A term coined by Douglas Rushkoff in an episode of PBS’s “Frontline” entitled “The Merchants of Cool.”; Mooks are archetypal young males(teens-early 20s) who act like moronic boneheads. They are self centered simpletons who live a drunken frat-boy lifestyle(or are frat-boys). Examples can be found anytime someone watches “Jackass.” Rushkoff claimed that the media glorifies this ideal and stifles natural self expression, however, some people might argue teenage boys have always acted like morons(its actually a long-standing stereotype).

I'm only going to take issue with the Rushkoff claimed that the media glorifies this ideal and stifles natural self expression. I disagree on two counts.

1. I think peer-pressure has far more effect on human behavior, particularly among children and teens, than anything on TV, and I think there's often been an anti-education/intellectual current among kids. It's rebellion against authority and the drudgery of school. The smart kid always gets a comeuppance.

2. Yes, the entertainment media does embrace the idiot. But if you showed kids (particularly teens) as commonly clean cut, attentive, and level-headed, there'd be a hew and cry that it's Bullshit. Yeah, we laugh and groan about Beavis & Butthead, but there'd be just as much argument if the shows were filled with Opie Taylors (from the Andy Griffith Show).

And the fact remains--Beavis & Butthead were consistently funnier than Opie. So were Laurel & Hardy (who weren't the brightest bulbs on the block), the 3 Stooges, Bob Hope in most of his movies, Bertie Wooster and anyone in the Drone's Club--you name it. People laugh at the idiots. The only difference is that we're in a youth culture now and the idiots tend to be teens.

Maybe if you make a great sitcom of Isaac Newton, Albert Einstein or Richard Feynman as a teen, you might have a chance at changing things.

Your Thanksgiving Sucks Checklist

[ _ ] - You have to state to everyone why you're thankful this year, even though you hate your job, your love life is nonexistant and the neighborhood cats are ruining the rims on your car by peeing on it every night and yet it's illegal to poison the little rat bastards.

[ _ ] - The white meat is dry and the dark meat smells like it's been sitting out on the countertop for a week.

[ _ ] - The neighbor's homemade tamales are long gone but there's plenty of Jello with canned pineapple chunks suspended in it.

[ _ ] - The dregs of your relatives are sitting on the sofa, monopolizing the good tv to watch the 1-8 Miami Skidmarks take on the 3-7 Baltimore Stench. In the bedroom, various flotsam and jetsam are huddled around the other TV watching The Oprah Winfrey Network.

[ _ ] - Your father and your uncle Hank are in hour #2 of discussing their respective diabetes management.

[ _ ] - The dog is locked outside, whining at the back door, because your grandmother's best friend, who could have been the body double for Anne Ramsey in Throw Momma From the Train, is allergic to pet hair.

[ _ ] - Someone brought a case of Budweiser that's still untouched, but all the good beer you had hidden away was drunk 3 hours ago.

Don't Be Intimidated By Porn

On an adult forum that I read, every so often someone will start a thread about people (usually the poster's wife or girlfriend) hating porn. It boils down to being intimidated by it. "I can't compete with that."

Speaking on behalf of most guys, "you don't have to." We're not expecting you to. I know you couldn't get into a reverse piledriver postion without dislocating your shoulder. I know your ass wasn't that small and tight even when you were 18. I know you don't like to swallow and your jaw gets tired.

Porn is fantasy. It's an add-on. It's us playing the x-rated section of Walter Mitty that The New Yorker wouldn't print.

You know what else is fantasy? War movies. If you see my eyes glaze over and a little bit of drool appears from the side of my mouth when I'm watching Jim Brown dropping granades down the air vents in THE DIRTY DOZEN, that doesn't mean that I really, truly want to do that in real life. In real life, I know I'll be one of the dozen who got my ass shot off first thing. In real life I wouldn't have been one of the dozen, because I wouldn't have been in that army prison. I'd have been one of Robert Ryan's dickhead lackies.

I love MAD MEN. I want to be Don Draper. Hell, I'd settle for being Roger Sterling. You know who I really am? I'm Harry, the shlub who buys time on tv shows.

The same goes for the books that I read. If I'm reading FAREWELL MY LOVELY, sure I want to be Philip Marlowe. I also know that I wouldn't last 10 seconds in Philip Marlowe's world. A goon would show up at my door and warn me off a case. I'd say something flip and I'd wake up in the hospital. You know what I'd do? I'd drop the case.

Porn is fantasy. Yeah, in my head I'm screwing women who are younger, firmer, bigger breasted and sexually more adventurous than anyone I'm going to ever meet in real life. So what? I have a fantasy that I'm the President of the United States. I have another one that I run Microsoft and I fire everyone responsible for Windows Vista. I've got another one where I'm Brad Pitt.

I don't really want to be Brad Pitt. Not even when he was banging Jennifer Aniston.

Women fantasize. If they don't, they're either lying or they're missing out on the best part of the waking day. Women fantasize about all kinds of weird shit. Does that really mean that they want those fantasies to come true? No. In fantasy you can keep all the good stuff and exclude all the bad stuff. Fantasizing having sex with your best friend's spouse? Nobody gets pregnant in fantasies. Nobody gets caught. Nobody gets the clap. No awkward conversation. No guilt. All the good stuff and none of the bad.

Women: if you really want to get back at a guy, you can turn the tables because guys are easily intimidated too. Get a video called AMAZING INSERTIONS or something like it, and believe me there are many to choose from. If you want to see a guy go pale, watch him watching a girl straddle an orange traffic cone. You know what's going on in his head? There isn't any way I can follow that. She wouldn't feel a thing.

There are plenty of things in the world to fret about. Pornstars shouldn't be one of them.

NP a R t 2

There was a recent announcement that NPR's ALL THINGS CONSIDERED co-host, Michele Norris, will be off the broadcast for awhile because her husband is joining the Obama campaign. The same thing happened back in 2008.

I think the policy is ridiculous.

First: as one the host of the show (they rotate three co-hosts among two chairs on a weekly basis), I don't know exactly why they think it's going to matter whether she's there or not. This isn't the BBC during World War II: do you think she's going to sneak code words into the broadcast to help Democratic activists in the field? "Hey! She said 'snipe hunt.' Send out that mass-mailing to the poor neighborhood telling them that Mit Romney has a list of names and mass deportations will begin the day after he takes the oath!

People may charge that she could help bias the newscast in the Democrats' favor.

1. They're doing that already

2. Even though I'm cynical, I do believe most journalists really do try to be fair (even with #1 above)

3. The Republicans are their own worst enemies

Seriously--a newscast is a massive group effort of multiple layers of reporters, producers, technicians and beaurocrats of all sorts. I don't think one person, even an anchor, is really going to make that much difference. That's like having a rogue at Mission Control during a space flight. There are too many things going on for one person to subtly shift things in a way that others won't notice.

And I'm not kidding about #3. It often seems that they'll have a story and someone from the left side of the aisle makes a statement, and then they say, "we asked Congressman Smith (R) to come on, but his office declined." And this not on the gotcha journalism, but on the mundane stuff. OR they'll end up getting some boob who can't speak his own name if it's not on a position paper written by his staff. The result is you end up with a procession of Democrats who often come off, even if they're touching the brim with bullshit, as articulate and thoughtful, and the Republicans as stuffy, dull-witted, or too timid to trust their own ability to connect two coherent thoughts.

Some people will say that #1 is the reason for that, but I don't think so. I've listened to various NPR shows for 20 years. I do think it's mildly biased in its own ways, but I don't think they're Macciavellian in their handling and presentation.

So taking Michele Norris off the broadcast is just pointless. But like Congress, it gives them the opportunity to appear to be doing something.

Bring On the Targeted Ads

I keep reading about website tracking and data gathering so that advertisers can target people more effectively. They make it sound as dire as an 9.0 earthquake followed by a 200' tsunami.

I don't get it. I'd prefer some targeted ads. From a list of recent advertising I've seen, I can tell you that I'm absolutely, unequivocably not the least bit interested in Budweiser, Jack Daniels whiskey, energy drinks, feminine hygene products of any sort, mini-blinds, double-pane windows, the AARP, right-wing political websites, left-wing political websites, foreign cars and trucks, domestic cars and trucks, motorcycles, recreational vehicles, vacation getaways, forclosed homes, credit repair, reverse mortgages, network TV shows, cable TV shows, celebrity gossip, celebrity anything else, nor golf products. And no quicky oil-change companies, either.

Also anything that's in my spam folder, including discount prescription meds, hard-on pills, enlargement pills, diet pills, hair-loss pills, in fact any kind of pill at all; also counterfeit watches, online degrees (I can print my own diploma on my own color printer), ink and toner cartridges, nor the kind of porn that's still illegal.

I actually have a few hobbies and interests, yet I rarely ever see ads for those things. One day last week I was on a website and I nearly fell off my chair because I saw an ad for a company I recognized, liked, and it was actually relevant to my interests. I couldn't click on it fast enough. I wanted to give the site some kind of positive feedback.

I spent a fair amount of time weeding the ads on Facebook. If you look on the right-side pane, there are usually four ads. If you hover over one, there's a little X that shows up in the upper-right corner. If you click on that you can "hide this ad" or "hide all ads from the organization." It then asks you why you don't like it.

Presumably this is so they can figure out which ads you want to see, which would be mutually beneficial. So far it hasn't worked. I'm still inundated by crap. Even on the occasion when I see one ad that's connected to a hobby or interest of mine, it's still not something I'm interested in.

Supposedly, considering the nature of web-surfing, computer advertising should have it hands-down over TV broadcasting, which still has to aim their ads at broad-based demographics. Yet it still seems as if I'm in the broadest based demographic there is: someone who's loaded a webpage.

You'd be better off advertising in the Pennysaver.

Politics. You Have Been Warned

[Written last summer but (for reasons I don't understand) never posted. I still feel the same way, though.]

On some webpage or another, I just came across another "Save NPR!" ad. A few months ago this was a big thing during the budget debate: whether NPR (National Public Radio) should be defunded."

I like NPR. I don't agree with their political bent, but their news coverage is still a level better than anything else I've seen or heard. It's like any kind of news coverage. It's not perfect, but it's a very good.

But I don't think it should be funded by the Government.

I'm old-fashioned in this regard. I don't think the Government should be the Charity-in-Chief. The money the government spends is my money, in part, and I have to pay it whether I like it or not. I don't think I should be forced to support The Arts, because the arts are going to go on whether the government funds them or not. And that includes NPR.

And yes, if I thought NPR was the Replublican mouthpiece instead of the Democratic house organ, I'd still feel the same way.

The Case Against Borders and B&N

MOUSEBENDER:
It's not much of a cheese shop, is it?
WENSLEYDALE:
Finest in the district, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
Explain the logic underlying that conclusion, please.
WENSLEYDALE:
Well, it's so clean, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
It's certainly uncontaminated by cheese.


I've written and rewritten this numerous times and scrapped it, but this time it stays.

I'm sick of watching various businesses go under, blaming everyone but themselves for their demise. There are outside factors that contribute, but I believe many businesses refuse to examine themselves and address their own faults--it's easier and more satisfying to blame competition.

The latest: Borders Books' flagship store in Ann Arbor is closing its doors. A sign supposedly says "No public restrooms--try Amazon."

Yeah, it's all Amazon's fault.

I grew up in suburbia and most of the bookstores were small. The major ones were located in malls. The two biggies where I lived were Pickwick (which later became B. Dalton) and Waldenbooks. They were nice because the alternatives were department stores, whose book departments were mainly best-sellers, drug and grocery stores, which had only the top sellers, and a few independents which were always on the other side of the city. The mall stores didn't have huge inventories, but there were better than non-bookstores and a lot easier to get to.

For me, the mall stores went sour when they began getting away from books and selling other things, like toys and games and other crap that weren't books. Given their already limited size and space, this seemed monumentally stupid.

Not too long after this happened, the big chains arrived: Barnes & Noble and Borders. They actuall had BOOKS! Huge stores with tons of books! All of a sudden I could go to the store and find things on shelves. Books I'd only heard of before but never seen. Books I'd never heard of but just happened to be shelved in a section I was interested in. It was a golden age.

You know what happened? The same thing.

I think in the last 5 years, I've actually bought a book or magazine one-visit-in-seven to either Barnes or Borders. Maybe two out of six I left because I thought the book was too expensive (they heavily discount the best-sellers, but they do it on the backs of stuff I want, which always seems like it's $40). The other times I left in disgust because they didn't even have what I wanted.

They still had lots of books, but I began noticing that more and more floor space was devoted to crap. Not stuff that made sense to me, like magazines and newspapers (even though I've often not found what I wanted there either), but games, puzzles, collectables. Candy.

Candy?!

Now I realize that even in a huge store like Borders or Barnes, they still have limits on what they can stock. But I was continuously disgusted by the fact that they don't have room to stock something I thought they *ought* to have, but they sure as hell had space for the Lindt Chococlate display.

Some MBA will say that the Lindt chocolates generated more revenue per square foot that whatever exotic book I wanted, and turned inventory far more often.

That may be, but I didn't go into Borders to buy a chocolate bar. Or a teddy bear. Or a Lego set.

So more and more often I turned to Amazon to buy books, because *they had books,* and the brick & mortars became the retailers of last resort because I was tired of wasting my time looking for books they didn't stock.

Ah! But I could order it!

Yeah--but if I'm going to order it, I CAN ORDER IT FROM AMAZON!!!! The whole point of going into the brick & mortar was being able to actually SEE the book. See if it was really what I wanted. And if it wasn't--maybe something nearby on the shelf *was* a better fit for my needs.

That was something that really pissed me off about B&N (Borders not so much): I pretty-much can't find anything at B&N now without having to ask. I can usually find things by myself at Borders, but at B&N you have to cool your heals at the info desk, which is either empty because the clerk is helping someone else find something, or backed-up because several other people have to find something--which is almost everything if it isn't the new James Patterson novel which is prominantly displayed in the middle of the store. With Borders I can usually figure out where my book is, or at least was supposed to be. With B&N the clerk has to consult a computer to figure out what assinine location it would be stashed--if they had it.

There's never a wait to talk to the clerks who are selling the company e-reader, though; and you don't need a directory to find him.

What Is Step 2

Today is one of those days when it seems like I have no idea what the next step is.

I've been learning the game of darts. Unlike bowling, where there's a definite technique you learn to rolling the ball, dart throwing is more like batting in baseball: you have to develop the technique that works best for you.

I've gotten to where I can almost always hit the board. Now I've been trying to get all my shots within the inner triple ring. But once I get that, I'm not sure what the next step is. I haven't figured out how to really work on accuracy and placing the darts where I want. Maybe it's just throwing darts 10,000 times at a specific spot; but I dunno. Just throwing darts as I "develop" my throw seems like a haphazard way of improving.

I've been working another hobby: oldradios, and ham radios, and in particular, old ham radios. Recently I bought a project radio, something that wouldn't be too far gone. So I got it—and it's not too far gone. But it's gone to the point where I opened it up and I felt like the dog that caught a car: now what?

I'm not sure what.

I've got a similar thing going on another project—it's been like pushing a car with its parking brake pulled on. But so far every time I've hit an obstacle, I've figured out a way around. So I'm pressing forward on it, even though the car still has its brake on, and I feel like I can't figure out what's 2 steps away.

Reboot

Sorry about the long delay. I have a list of excuses for not updating. They're great. Trust me.

That said, I'm going to try again. The goal is a new post every Sunday morning. I may post an extra one during the week if I have something great, but at least once a week, on Sunday morning. I've already got a few scheduled to go.

The Case for Amazon.com

Lately I've been making the rounds, trying to find a band for an old wristwatch. This is turning into a Quest.

Used to be you could get these things at the local drug store. Not any more. Target had a few but not the size I needed. Walmart the same.

If you ask why I don't just buy them online—I'd kind of like to see what it really looks like before I buy it. Some things you can buy online because it doesn't realy matter, or you know that they all look the same. But watch straps vary in color, in thickness, the texture. Most online photos just don't tell you what you need to know, ya know?

So the next level was the traditional department stores. JCPenney—nyet. Sears had them, but you had to go down into the dungeon to the watch repair guy. This reminds me that Sears is now the most eccentric department store I've been to. To find this guy I had to go downstairs, around behind the back escalator to an almost hidden hallway where the photo studio and various other shoplets are.

The watch repair guy was nice but wanted to see the watch. I didn't bring it, and besides—I know the size. Just show me what you have in black and brown leather bands. You can't have that many, can you?

He couldn't do it. No band for you.

What they really want you to do (well, the repair guy supposedly wants me to keep my old one) is to buy a new watch. The price of watches is insanely low these days. I think watches are about the same price or lower now than they were when I was a kid. Used to be you could buy a $20 watch and it looked like crap. Now a $20 watch is beautiful. I saw a few that I thought were incredible.

But I've got more watches than I know what to do with now. I don't need another watch; I need a band for a watch I already own. And believe me, it's a nice watch. I wouldn't be going through this to put a band on an old Timex.

So now my choice is either a jeweler, which will be expensive (100% pelagic sealskin! On sale for $99!), or I just have to give up and get one from Amazon for $10 and hope for the best.

Guess which one I'll be doing?

The Greaseless Mechanic

Along with the previous post about DIY home improvement shows, I have the same problem with car repair shows. Used to watch them, now—forget it.

Here's how a typical car repair show goes. Today we're going to restore this classic 1961 Ford Thunderbird. First we begin by ripping out single-reservoir, shoe brake system and replacing them entirely with a brand new dual-reservoir disc braking system*. Next we're going to rip out the original 6v wiring and replace it with 12 volt*. Then we're going to tear that ancient cap 'n points distributor ignition and replace it with a brand new, high energy, distributorless ignition*. Next we remove that crap stockblock V8 which cranked only about 110 horses on its best day, and we're going to bolt on new manifolds*, intake and exhaust, add racing cylinder heads* and a high throughput custom exhaust*. Then on the inside, we're going to remove the old AM radio and place it with a state of the art HD FM, Satellite/iPod/bluetooth GPS navigation system*. We're going to fit electric windows and locks* on all our doors, and a security system with Lo-Jack.*

About the only original thing left on this "restored" vehicle will be the windshield wipers.

And all of this will be done over the course of maybe 4 half-hour shows, each about 12 minutes long after you cut out commercials, teasers, recaps and assorted other shit. They'll do it without cutting themselves, making any mistakes, finding out that something doesn't fit, that the instructions are wrong, that a part is missing, or getting a streak of grease anywhere.

Meanwhile, I can't seem to replace a blown headlight on my car without knocking it out of time.

* donated by a sponsor

Home Wrecking

I have a weird love-hate with some of these DIY shows. I like learning how to do things; but I hate how most of the DIY shows have evolved into doing the same few things—and they're things I wouldn't do myself anyway.

On the DIY channel, which I used to enjoy, almost every show seems to take place in the kitchen or the bathroom, with a few for the garage. They mostly seem to do the same thing. Kitchen: yank out the countertop and put in a granite one. Put up that mosaic-tile backsplash. Remove the cupboards and put up different ones. In the bathroom: rip out the fixtures and put in new ones. And a tv. Always put in a tv. I always want to watch tv when I'm on the throne.

For the garage, it's always removing clutter and changing it into something else: maybe a workroom, maybe a workout room, maybe a game room. At the end it's always beautiful. But where did all that clutter go? You can't tell me that they removed 450 cubic feet of stuff out of the garage, installed three cabinets and a line of hooks to hang the garden tools, and somehow there's a place for everything and everythhing in its place. There has to be a shed in the back yard that's bursting in the seems now.

They never do the things I want to see. You know what I want in my bathroom? A urinal. Some day when I have a place of my own, I'm going to put one into the master bath. You laugh? Why? With a urinal, there's no reason to raise the seat (unless to clean it), and no middle of the night misses. You say it's another thing to clean? Yeah, but it's a lot easier to clean.

And screw the tv set. How about a real medicine cabinet? I'm not on any meds, and my crappy medicine cabinet is full anyway. You put in a few boxes of various size band-aids, some anti-sceptic, the sun block, the basic OTC meds (cough drops, pepto, antacids), razor blades, toothpaste—and it's full. And that's just me. A woman can fill a regular sized medicine chest with face creams alone.

The only show where you actually learn how to do something is on Ask This Old House. When I buy my house, I'm going to ask them to help me install a urinal.

Keeping Up Appearances

My last wine glass broke. It was on the floor beside my recliner and the DVD remote fell on it. It had been a gift so I got my money out of it.

I don't buy expensive stemware, and I don't buy pricey wine to put in it. That way when something happens it's not a tragedy. If there were a shattered Waterford glass in my trash can, I'd be inconsolable.

The key word above, however, was last. I'm out, and now I'm stuck with replacing it.

Why? Last night I poured a glass of wine into a beer glass (I have plenty of those), and kept telling myself, glass is glass. The only real difference is the shape.

So why does it feel like I'm one step away from drinking straight from the bottle? Pirates do it and they look cool. But then, so do drunken mercinary soldiers, just before they gang rape the heroine (or are killed just before, depending on the movie).

In real life, vagrants and dumbass college students drink straight from the bottle. (Don't believe me on the latter? Do a Google image search for drinking out of a paper bag.)

I just came from a website which sells stemware and has a store nearby. They feature a "stemless" glass that's just the bowl. It's like a rounded low-ball glass you'd serve Scotch 'n water in.

Of course I have none of those, but I've got a coffee mug that's about that shape. But the coffee mug is ceramic. Actually it's porcelain, which has been fired at high temp and it's a type of glass.

Except that this is opaque, cobalt blue, and has a design drawn on it in gold. Wine wouldn't taste right in that. It's for coffee.

As much as I keep telling myself that all of this is absurd, that wine is just another beverage (especially the $5/bottle plonk that I buy), and that glass is glass, and that I drink alone and there's no one to impress so what difference does it make?...it makes a difference.

Tomorrow I may go out and get a proper glass. Tonight, I'm going to put an eye-patch on and my old match-lock pistol in the waist of my pants, and drink pirate style. Arrrr.

Let There Be Flashlight

Last weekend I was given a nice little LED flashlight; it's broad and flat, about the size of my hand, with LEDs on the face and magnets on the back. I stuck it onto the side of the toolbox in the trunk of my car.

As I was going through said toolbox looking for another flashlight (a big 4-cell black Maglight, the kind cops use because you can crack someone's skull with it), I came across a little 2-AA stick maglight in a neat little box, a 2-D cell plastic piece of crap that I got for free because it came with the two batteries, and another little light with a little generator in it so that when you shake it (like those shake-weights they sell on tv), the kinetic energy is stored and powers the light for a little while. It's a good light to have if every other flashlight on earth is broken or has dead batteries.

I also came across a 3-AA cell stick LED light that was in the little storage area between the front seats, and a 4-AA cell LED stubby that was in the glove compartment.

That's just in the car.

In my bedroom I've got a 2-AA cell Maglight, a 4-AAA cell stick light, and a big 4-D cell "lantern." And oh, yeah—I've got another flashlight that puts out visible Ultraviolet.

I'm sure there must be at least one or two more in the garage, and who knows how many others scattered around the house.

I've been trying to figure out when our culture became obsessed with battery powered light. A little bit of it is sensible: there could be a natural disaster and I could lose electricity for awhile (hey, I could lose power when a nearby transformer craps out), and having a flashlight makes sense.

But this many?

And it doesn't seem to be going away, it's getting worse. Years ago it seemed like a digital clock was being put into everything; now it's lights. As I type this, I just realized I forgot about keychain lights (mine is moldering in my desk drawer at work because it's useless; sitting next to another (good) flashlight that I want in case the power goes out and we need to exit the building in the dark). And thinking of that reminded me that I've got a tiny light on a faux Swiss Army knife.

What's almost alarming is that I can count on one hand how many of these I bought; the rest just accumulated like old leaves under a tree. I can't even remember where half of them came from and why I have them.

And even though I've got all of these flashlights, the one that I really want, the one that's useful and I've had it for ages, is that big-ass 4 D-cell Maglight, the kind cops use.

And I can't find it.

Roombangelical

I am a Roombavangelist.

I don't hate vacuuming, not the way I hate mopping, but I always seem to find reasons not to do it. Of course I thought a Roomba would be great, but for a long time I couldn't afford one, and I thought it was a gimmick.

Some people think I'm a gadget buy, but I'm not really. I'm practical enough that I want things that work; I don't like gimmicks. Certainly not expensive gimmicks.

Then a close relative got a Roomba, and we were all amazed to find that it really worked. It's actually a very good vacuum. Part of the appeal is that it slides easily under sofas and chairs and tables where you ordinarily wouldn't go (or you have to move them, which is part of what makes vacuuming wearisome). But the big thing is that really picks up. Maybe part of it is that I have to clean it after every run, and I can see all the crap in the bin, whereas with my traditional upright vac, it all goes into a bag and I don't know what's in there.

But I have to clean Roomba's beater brush after every cleaning because it's full of dog and cat hair, and I don't have to do that with the upright. To me that means the Roomba is picking up hair that the upright missed.

You'd think I'd find picking fur out of the Roomba brushes to be a pain; yet I'd rather spend 10 minutes cleaning the Roomba than 1/2 an hour push/pulling the upright, no contest.

I took the thing to work and ran it in my office. The janitors vacuum every so often, yet the carpets look a hell of a lot better after the Roomba's gone over them.

So I got a Roomba of my own. But it wasn't enough just to have this, I felt compared to share the Good News. I took it into the office (the company doesn't want to buy them because they think they'll be stolen). I began lending it to my friends over the weekend. They were similarly amazed.

Then I found another one that was broken and fixed it. So now I had two. Great! I can keep one and lend the other one out. Except that I needed another battery. Well, then you need a special charger for it. So I found another used Roomba on eBay which had all the stuff. So now I have three. And if I get another battery, I can have one on loan and two running simultaenously here.

I'm breaking into a sweat just thinking about it.

Then I got a Scooba, which is the one that mops floors. It's interesting because unless your floor is horrible, you don't really see much of a difference, yet when the Scooba is done and you empty the dirty water tank, it looks like mud.

The bad part of the Scooba is that it's big: picture one of those gargantuan restaurant dinner plates. It's fine for the kitchen and the front door entry, but too big to negotiate my bathroom. And if it can't between the toilet and the tub or the toilet and the sink cabinet, it's almost pointless.

Now iRobot (the people who make it) are coming out with a smaller Scooba for exactly this reason, so it can get into the tighter areas in bathrooms. I dream of this thing.

If I had this much passion for romance, I'd be get getting laid every night.

I wonder if you could modify a Roomba for....

Imagery

The new profile photo is Roger Moore, circa late 60s around the end of The Saint. Or maybe 1973, when he started as James Bond. Moore was putting greasy kid stuff in his hair during The Saint years, but wore it dry as Bond; I can't tell which from the photo. In-between was The Persuaders period when he was heavier and wore his hair longer, and it's obviously not that.

Changed because Michael Caine in the straw hat looked too creepy. I couldn't read my own posts without looking at the image and thinking I was a dirty old man.

Jacking Off Shouldn't Be This Difficult

This is one of the big reasons I created this blog. I grew up in an era when we just did not discuss this sort of thing. Even when I was trading men's magazines with my friends in high school, we never spoke of it. I think the image was that we were all reading them at home in our wing-back leather chairs, wearing a smoking jacket and puffing a pipe. Visualizing each other in the reality of it, sitting on a toilet, trying to knock one out quietly in the middle of the afternoon in the hall bathroom, was a serious woodkill. If you thought about what your friends were really doing with those magazines, you wouldn't be able to get it up for a week.

This is exactly why I'm writing this blog: it's allowing me to discuss something that would never be talked about otherwise.

Some time, in a more appropriate post, I'll go into the social part of things, but for this post I'm just going to start with this background: I'm single, I'm not seeing anyone, I don't believe in one-night-stands or casual sex or hookers. Which means there's a whole lot of masturbation going on.

Some people can hump their right hand for their entire lives and love it, but for some of us it gets dull after awhile, no matter how much you like it. My hand is great, but it's not perfect. So every so often I start looking around for something else.

I've had a small variety of things over the years (which are grist for other posts). A few were terrible; a few were forgettable; and while I never found anything that was a great replacement for Rosie Palm and her five sisters, a few were worthwhile.

One of the toys I kept, and I still have it around, is called a "pussy & anus" (P&A) toy. It's a lump of some sort of rubber that's molded from a woman's genital area. Inside there are two channels, one from the "pussy" and one from the "anus," and they merge inside. The stem of that Y makes an air hole in the far end of the P&A (you normally don't see it in photos). That makes it much easier to clean, and you don't have to fight air pockets while you're using it. If you want suction, you just plug up the hole.

Most toys you hold in your hand, like a Fleshlight, and if you want a hands-free experience, you jam it in-between sofa cushions or mattresses or tape it onto a bedpost or whatever. A P&A is designed to be used hands-free. It's too heavy to use hand-held (you can, but you have to have Popeye forearms to sustain it). The bottom of it is flat and it's heavy, so it'll stay put where you set it.

And there lies the rub. I read a lot of product reviews and I never see anyone really discuss the true logistics on these things. For instance:

I don't want to "use my imagination" with this; it doesn't do it for me. I like to be watching something on the computer or the tv. That suddenly makes things very complicated, because the computer monitor is on a desk and the tv is on a bureau, which makes for comfortable viewing if you're in a chair.

I'm not in a chair if I'm using this thing.

The bed has two problems: if you're in a missionary position, you can't see the tv no matter which way I'm facing. The bed is against the wall so I can't go cross-wise. So unless I want to set up some elaborate mirroring system, the bed is out.

I could put it on the seat of the chair and attack it from a kneeling position, but the chairs are too high. Even my computer chair, at its lowest, is just a bit too high.

I could put it on a box, but finding a box that's the right height has been difficult. Plus the P&A is heavy, so if you use a cardboard box, the box shimmies and sways and bounces in ways you don't necessarily enjoy.

I find it's best on the floor, placed on a pillow or a sofa cusion. It's a comfortable height and I can stretch out. But I need another hinge in my neck because I can't get a good view of the tv.

The last place I was at, I had a console TV that could be comfortably viewed from floor level. (Wait—I now have a light, flat panel tv instead of the old monster CrT. I could easily set it on the floor—nope. I'd have to replace the cables with much longer ones.)

Anyway, that leaves books and magazines. Since I like to flip pages a lot, it becomes awkward. It's a bit like Gomez Addams reading a magazine while standing on his head, with that fast flick of the page so he doesn't unbalance himself. I find myself worrying more about turning pages than what I'm supposed to be doing.

Then there's the temperature. In the summer there's no problem, but in the winter you have to plan ahead. You have to fill the sink with hot water and submerge the toy for while to warm it up thoroughly. A small toy warms realtively fast, but a solid P&A acts as a heat sink. So unless you're into necrophilia, sticking your johnson into a cold block of rubber sends a chill right up your spine, taking all the blood back with it. And while you're at it, you gotta warm up the lube, too. Ever been in the middle of a glorious session and then pour what feels like icewater on it? Eeeeeaaaaaaaaggggghhh

Sometimes it seems like dating is less trouble.

Dog Walking

When I was growing up I lived in houses with decent back yards, so the dogs could get a reasonable amount of exercise.  It wasn't until recently that I live in a house with a back yard that's roughly the size of my bathtub; so now I have dog-walking duties.

I don't mind walking the dog. It forces me to get some exercise when I might normally just become part of the sofa. And it takes some of the creepiness factor out of my walks.  When I'm by myself, I'm a potential threat.  With the pooch I'm just another shlub walking the dog.  You never think of Jack the Ripper or The Hillside Strangler with a leash and a baggie of fresh dog crap.  So as I see the neighborhood hotties walk or jog by, when I'm by myself I tend to get averted eyes and "don't look at me" postures; with the dog I get smiles.

Or I should say, I typically get smiles from moms pushing strollers.  God forbid the lady has a dog of her own, because then it's Michael Vick at the corner...

The other day I was standing at a corner with my dog, waiting for the light to change.  A lady jogs up next to me.  She's gorgeous.  I smile at her.  She smiles back.  My dog looks at hers, and hers is looking at mine.  I'm about to say something witting and charming and

grrrrrrr — that's her dog; and mine is growling, and I'm now having to buckle my knees and lean back because my dog is in tractor mode, pulling toward the other dog —

GRRRRRROOOWWWWWLLLL — and now she's pulling her dog back, and that's when the light flicked and poof, they were gone before blood could be shed.

Dogs.

I've had a pleasant, but very short, shouted conversation with what may be a nifty lady across a street, as we tried to get our frothing and frantic dogs past each other. At least twice a week I cause pandemonium at a local barber shop because her dog sees mine as I walk past and we're being invaded! Must kill foreign dog!!!.

There's another lady in the neighborhood whom I'd very much like to see at closer than half-a-block distance, but as soon as one of us spots the other, we jockey for position to put as much distance and parked cars between us as possible. I know nothing about her because I can't get within 50 yards of her.

People tell me that women are attracted to cute dogs (and mine is undeniably fluffy and adorably cute); but walking the dog is like having a Jane Doe restraining order.

Boring Introduction

but vaguely useful if you want to know what's going on.

So I followed the lead of another blogger (Chapter Two) and decided to create an anonymous persona for blogging purposes.  There's nothing big to hide: I'm not a celebrity; I'm not a public person; I don't have a reputation that would be destroyed if something I said here became public.  Hell, my reputation might actually improve.

But what happened on my other blogs is that I'm a private person, and I keep my internal editor high, and I was squelching a huge amount of things that I wanted to talk about because I didn't want to deal with friends or relatives, as well-meaning as they are, coming back to me about it.  I don't want my liberal friends asking me how I could consider joining the NRA.  I don't want my social-conservative friends giving me shit about why I favor gay marriage.  I don't want my boss to ask me what I was thinking when I complained about an idiotic policy at work.  I don't want my friends sniggering and asking me if I really had sex with an inflatable beach ball last summer.

This blog is about all the things that are part of my life, or that I find interesting, which I wouldn't easily discuss elsewhere.  That may include politics, definitely sex (which is why the content warning is on), and annoyances of everyday life.

Hopefully I'll be amusing doing it.

 P.S.  a quick note to anyone who thinks he may know who I am:  please do us both a favor and keep it to yourself.  If you're right, I'd prefer you leave; but if you're going to stay and read, please keep the secret—you've got an orchestra seat to very personal parts of my life.  If you're wrong, it'll just ruin the fantasy for you.

P.P.S.  (as I type this) my profile photo is Michael Caine from the movie Second Hand Lions.  I chose it because I like the character and the movie: read more into it at your peril because trust me, there is nothing more to it.  I'll be changing it as the mood strikes me.