Simple Math

Put it down. As much as I will defend guys at nearly every turn, this is a no-brainer. You put the seat down.

Look at it like this: Every person has two sorts of jobs to do in the toilet. For the sake of cuteness we'll call it the Little Job and the Big Job. Men do the Little Job standing up, though they could do it sitting if they wanted to do it that way. They do the Big Job sitting down.

Women do the Big Job sitting down, of course, but also have to do the Little Job sitting down. It would not be wise for a woman to attempt the Little Job standing up.

Now, in a two-person household that includes one man and one woman, that gives a three in four chance that whatever job is being done in the bathroom right now is a sit-down job. You can add additional males all you like and the math still comes out in favor of keeping the seat down. Male child joins the household? You still have a 4-to-2 ratio going that the job is a sitter. Two sons? 5-to-3. The math will always come out this way. And as superior as men are in math, with their bigger brain and all that, I would think this is pretty clear.

Dinner With The Boys

No meal is so good as when a man cooks it. While I feel very secure in saying the lion's share of cooking in the world is done by women, the best and most memorable meals I have ever enjoyed were prepared by men. This is one reason why our weekly dinner with the boys is so nice.

Usually our friend Sam cooks. He was born in Naples, Italy, and cooks like his mother does, except better. Other friends inquire every Thursday morning about what we had for dinner at Sam's Five-Star Restaurant. But this week was unusual because Randy cooked for us at his hunting lodge. Going there is an interesting experience.

If I can every really forget that I'm usually the lone chick at these dinners, I could not forget it out there. First, Randy made it very plain that the lodge, which is called The Horny Doe, is a "guys" place. Few women have ever darkened the door. The furniture is all large and rustic, and the walls are covered in dead animals. By my count, there were nine deer, two turkeys, a pheasant, a bobcat, a javelina and an antelope, not to mention numerous large fish and other assorted antlery from a variety of large creatures. Dinner was wild turkey killed by Randy himself, the buckshot we occasionally found in our teeth clear proof of this. Afterward we enjoyed a beer on the back deck and watched some basketball.

Food and ambiance aside, the dinners are a nice treat each week. I feel kinda special because they don't treat me special. They don't curtail their cursing, they don't wait until I'm out of the room to tell an embarrassing story involving shit, they don't think twice about saying some woman on TV has a nice rack, and are not afraid to say, "Hell no, I'm not taking my wife to Vegas with me," because they know I won't go tell her. That's really cool.

Scrapper

My son got into a fight at school this week. It isn't the first time. He has a quick temper, which frequently results in a minor shoving match or exchange of fierce words like, "you're stupid!" and the like. Although Scooter is a very good boy not to swear like his mother does, he reports that a couple other boys at school have called people "fuckers" and "fags." I remember when I was his age that calling someone an S.O.B.--and I mean just using the letters--was extreme.

Anyhow, my husband and I have been of two minds regarding fighting. I have said never to do it, under nearly any circumstance, because you will only get into trouble. My husband says, "get in the first lick if you know its coming and don't worry about the consequences." While I can see the benefit of this when it comes to winning a brawl, this still does not prevent the trip to the office that may result in far worse than mere name calling.

But it appears that this time, at least, I was wrong. Oh, he still got a paddling, but the punch was generally regarded by classmates (and even one anonymous teacher) as well done. Basically, I'm told, the kid was a bully who had it comin'. So while the raw and gritty me says, "Right on!" I'm still concerned that he will see the endorsement and praise of his friends as a license to scrap.

Boys fight. It's in the nature. I feel confident saying that any man who has gone his whole life without getting into a physical altercation is probably rare. And we females will often encourage it by liking the scrapper. A guy who fights is tough and strong and "don't take no shit," and all those other things that tap into the animal instinct we use when seeking good mates. But truthfully, anyone who has ever seen two grown men really go toe-to-toe knows that fighting isn't pretty or glamorous. It's unpleasant and scary. And if they really mean it, somebody is gonna get hurt.

I reckon I'm just buying trouble. The fact he's been in a couple shoving matches and thrown a punch does not mean that Scooter is destined to be a brawler who has to be bailed out of jail by his buddies on a regular basis. And I suppose a willingness to put it on the line is better than going through life scared and intimidated. It's a fine line with boys. Moms just have to figure it out as we go along.

Off Season Psychosis

As I post this, there remain 77 days until the next Cleveland Browns football game, and even that one is a preseason game that "doesn't really count." This means there will be at least another 70 days of Off Season Psychosis in the Cleveland Browns Forum. I say 70 because surely to God the last week leading up to the game will actually bring back normal posting.

Right now, the primary symptom of OSP is the conspiracy theory. All forums have factions. The Browns Forum has official factions known as Bushwood, the BFFs, the Quinnbots, the Andersonbots and Tman, who is so generally irritating to everyone he counts as a faction by himself. Unofficial factions include "the chicks," of which I am a member. Possibly.

Oh, I'm still a chick. I may even be all three chicks who post there. Or, I might be a man. In fact, it has been declared that I am not only a man, but I am multiple men, some posing as women, some posing as Browns fans, some posing as trolls and ALL working as a moderator for the company which owns the forum. Whew! I'm a busy girl/guy!

I've always found fascinating the number of personalities in the forum. Some, I feel certain, are completely fictional. One thing about the internet is that you can pretend to be someone completely different if you want to. Who would know? And this is exactly why the conspiracy theories about forum posters abound. I mean, who hasn't been accused of being a mod at one time or another? On the other hand, if you are genuine and "be yourself," who would know that either? Nobody can prove a thing. So now, the "Kat Persona" has become one of the biggest mysteries and controversies of the off season in the Browns Forum.

Truthfully, I tried to hide my identity once and failed miserably. One of the regulars spotted me within 5 minutes. I guess I'm irrepressible.

Prevent Defense (And Other Mistakes)

Some of the Browns guys were discussing the infamous (for Cleveland) 1987 AFC championship game played against the Denver Broncos. Long and short: John Elway leads the Broncos 98 yards to tie the game with 37 seconds left in regulation. Denver then went on to win the game in overtime on a field goal. For long-time Browns fans, this event is now simply known as The Drive. For new Browns fans, it is one of the first sad tales you must learn. Read about the tragic event here.

If you know even the littlest bit about football, you know from reading the play-by-play that the Browns were running what is called the Prevent Defense. In theory, you allow the opposing offense to get short plays in the middle of the field (and use clock), but you "prevent" the big play or long pass that can give them a score. The only problem with that is, it often doesn't work. If you give up four yards here and six yards there, you've given up a first down. This is why it is often said the Prevent Defense is so named because "it prevents you from winning."

If you think back to any other situation in your life, you will know that this is a flawed strategy. It's the whole "give them an inch and they will take a mile" thing:

"C'mon Mom, 30 more minutes?"

"You can cancel at any time."

"Just let me put the tip in."

How many of those have you been burned on before? That's because you were running the Prevent.

Boobies!

While there are some men who take the "more than a mouthful is a waste" attitude toward breasts, most guys seem to stick with the "bigger is better" attitude. I humbly suggest they wouldn't feel this way if they were the ones who had to carry them around.

I just spent $75 on sports bras I had to order online. I had to order them because no stores around here carry a sports bra in my cup size. And forget about the pretty bras they sell at Victoria's Secret. They can't handle the payload. So you order them, hope they fit because you can't try them on ahead of time, and fork over the better part of a C-note. I should be used to it by now, but I never cease to be amazed. I suspect that when the credit card bill arrives is the only time a man questions the advantage of big boobies.

I have a husband who is as obsessed with boobies as the next man. Cleavage is a very big deal for him, and he likes to see it. He just doesn't want anybody else to see it. So when we go out, he spends his time alternately pulling my top down far enough to see the goodies and tugging it back up so nobody else will notice, which of course does nothing but draw attention. I would think after nearly 20 years he would remember what they look like long enough for us to have dinner, but who am I kidding? Looking at boobies is like having sex for most guys; if they haven't seen it/done it in the last five minutes they may as well have never seen it/done it.

It makes me wonder what men would do if they had their own boobies? Probably nothing but look at them all day long.

The 'Extras'

To continue the discussion from below, there were a lot of options on that shopping spree link for "feel good" things like building homeless shelters or feeding and clothing the poor for a year and things like that. I'm all for charity. Sometimes circumstances result in people with needs they can't meet for themselves for a period of time. But I think it's a mistake to take somebody to raise. People must be able to provide their own basics. If you provide those for them all the time, they will never be independent.

If I were Powerball rich, I'd be more inclined to be charitable in ways that gave people those extras that are hard to afford even if you are covering the basics. Things like music lessons, trips abroad, or plays and concerts and exhibitions that are either too costly or too far away to see for a lot of people. Not everyone lives in the big city, and those life-enhancing and mind-expanding things can be hard to come by sometimes if you don't have surplus funds.

Utopia for me would be a world in which everyone's neighborhood was bursting with culture and art, and access to it was free to all. It's hard to be stressed when you are painting or writing or dancing, and hard to argue with your neighbor when you are listening to or playing music together.

What Would You Think About?

A friend of mine posted a link for a $3 trillion shopping spree the other day. Be warned, the point of the website is to promote an anti-War and anti-Bush sentiment, but if you are a Bush supporter maybe you can put that aside and give it a try anyway. It is interesting to see how far money goes when it's that much money. Incidentally, I bought the Cleveland Browns. Picked up the Hope Diamond too. Maybe it won't jinx us.

I discussed this link with another friend of mine, who was inspired to pose this question: What would you think about if you didn't have to think about money?

Most of us have to think about money a lot. We have bills to pay, and unexpected expenses come up all the time. In the back of our minds we have to be thinking about our own retirement (ha!) sometime in the future, and the cost of an education for our children. It's a simply a fact that you have to have money. Next to water and air, it's the primary thing you need to ensure survival.

But if you were one of those people who were born into or stumbled into wealth, or if your career had been unexpectedly profitable and you never had to give a thought about a place to live or food or clothing or the like, what would you think about? Not having to think about money means there are dozens of other things you don't have to think about either, so what do you put your mind on when it is free?

I detect a lot of anti-wealth sentiment in this country sometimes because I think there is some deeply-held conviction that "the rich get richer" simply because they fix the system for their own benefit. I'm sure that happens. But I submit to you that the rich may get richer because they don't have to think about those ordinary things, and their minds are free to envision and create and start new things, and their existing wealth allows them to finance those ventures successfully.

So...what would you think about? Or do? It's hard to get started, isn't it?

It's a Man's World

I like men. Always have. Since I was a baby, my mother says, I have always preferred to hang out with the guys. But this isn't without its pitfalls. No matter how much a woman likes to hang out with men, she isn't one. And no matter how much a guy thinks he's modern and in touch with his feminine side, he's still a guy and thinks like a guy. We're different animals, and there is nothing wrong with that.

I have often used this as my argument against women in combat in the military. It's not that I have doubts women are capable of doing their jobs. It's because men assume certain roles and develop certain agendas, and they can't help it. And when they do this it throws everyone off their game. Again, it doesn't make them bad. It just makes them men. Recently I have solidified this theory thanks to the football forum.

It's the same situation: you have an army, if you will, of fans, allied to a certain team. Ever vigilant, they patrol the posts for trolls and interlopers from other fanbases. Like different branches of the military, they break into their own little factions vying for importance and dominance, and sometimes engage in mock battle, like the Army-Navy game. It's all very primitive and exciting! Throw a woman into the mix, and all this standard Man Business gets disrupted.

In battle, as in sports forums, men will far outnumber women. For every one woman you may have a dozen or more men. Of this dozen men, they break down roughly into four categories: He-Man Woman Haters, Casanovas, Knights in Shining Armor, and Normal People.

Get this straight right away: In a dozen men there will be no more than two Normal People. Those are the guys who treat you as a peer and go on about business in an efficient way. Of the other 10 you will have three HMWHs who, as their description suggests, hate you for your female silliness and how you damper their willingness to post about bowel movements and naked chicks. You'll have four Casanovas who imagine that you are somehow desirable (based on little to no real knowledge), and spend the day trying to virtually seduce you. The remaining three are the KSAs who rise to your defense against the HMWHs, usually to their own detriment.

Based on my own experience, it makes it difficult to just be yourself as a woman. Should you be combative and take on your critics "like a man?" Should you return the playful innuendo or not? Should you be grateful to those big brother types who want to guard you, or tell them to mind their own shops? There is no right answer. And I dare suggest that if my theory held up in a military unit you'd find quite a few men getting gunned down in not-so-friendly fire by some overwhelmed lady soldier. I maybe wrong, but I can see it happening.

Scary Fun

I was watching the remake of Dawn of the Dead again last night, and loving every second of it. I realize the zombie flick purists don't care for the remakes (and trust me, the remake of Day of the Dead is a steaming pile of feces), but I liked this one. The first time I watched it realized it was because these zombies can haul ass. They don't just wait for you to make an error in strategy and accidentally find yourself surrounded by slow and lumbering living dead; they will run you down to eat your brains. Fun stuff!

Don't get me wrong. I understand the symbolism of the slow and lumbering living dead. It suggests inescapable mortality and also the slow-but-steady decay of civilization. While I appreciate these things, that isn't why I go to a scary movie. I go to be scared. I want to be creeped out and go to bed with the lights on. I want to be afraid to walk out on the porch at night (just for a day or two). I want those feelings without having to put a lot of thought into it because a good scare makes you aware of your mortality in the best way: by taking you to the edge of it. If a movie is good enough to really put you in the moment, you will feel it. Nothing makes you feel more alive than being pushed to the edge of death. Anyone who has crawled out of a totalled car can tell you that.

And I confess the scary movie appeals to the more prurient interests as well. What is a vampire's bite if not illicit penetration with exchange of body fluid? It's bloody porno that keeps it PG-13 while still satisfying the carnal desire. At the heart of it, a good horror film should make girls squeal and jump and clutch their boyfriend's leg tightly while keeping the adrenaline pumping at a high enough rate that she will put out later. Smart boys have been taking girls to scary movies since they were invented.

RIP Eight Belles

I always wanted a horse and never had one. Owning one is yet another item on the "Someday..." list. So until I have one, I indulge my equine imagination by watching the horse sale at the livestock barn or by watching horse racing. Naturally, I was watching yesterday when Eight Belles tried to become only the fourth filly to beat the boys in the Kentucky Derby.

I have been watching the Triple Crown, and primarily the Kentucky Derby, since I was a kid. I got interested by reading the Walter Farley series of Black Stallion books. On top of this, the Derby manages to combine three of my loves: sports, horses and chapeaux. And this year there was a little something extra, that being the fact that a girl was taking on the men and stood a chance to win it. I think the odds they posted at the track put Eight Belles at 12-1 just before the race, which was very respectable given that most of the field was going off at no better than 20-1 and some down in bottom-scraping 48-1 area. In the end, she placed, beating 18 of the boys and losing only to the horse that is this year's real Triple Crown threat. Good girl!

Sadly, of course, everyone now knows she broke both front legs shortly after the race was done, and was put down right there on the track. So now the questions come. Just two years after Barbaro broke a rear leg at the Preakness (and was euthanized 9 months later), people are going to start asking if horse racing is cruel. They are going to say the horse doesn't have a choice. They are going to question whether a breed of horse, with those slender and elegant legs, should be pushed to a 35 mph run carrying that much weight.

I will not fake the funk in this matter. I enjoy watching the races just like I enjoy watching football, but that doesn't mean I really know anything about it. I'll leave those questions to the experts, although I do suspect that if a half-ton animal doesn't want to race you ain't gonna make her.

The three girls who won the Derby in years past were Regret (1915), Genuine Risk (1980) and Winning Colors (1988). I expect the name Eight Belles will be just as famous in terms of fillies who ran the Derby, and famous among them all, colt or filly alike. In 134 years, she's the only horse the Derby ever lost.