Ah, Spring!

Is there anything better than, on a beautiful spring day, watching shirtless college guys in shorts play frisbee, while just across the path baseball players strut around in their tight pants showing off their bubble butts and cup-clad packages getting ready for a game? I think not! Really gets the hormones pumping. God, I need to get laid...

"I'll Show That Little White Furball Who The Star Is Around Here!"

Lady Yan Yan, the Berlin Zoo's female panda, dies of constipation in the midst of Knut-mania at the zoo. If the elephants start dying, we're going to have to take a hard look at Knut's nighttime activities. He's totally poisoning the other animals, y'all!

(Via Defamer)

Many Happy Returns!

Happy Blog Birthday to Note! May there be many more.

When You Think About It, It's A Wonder This Wasn't Made Ages Ago!

I mean, the pun is so obvious! Girls Gone Wilde!

(Via Bookslut)

Stupidest. Title. Ever.

The Sci-Fi Channel is known for its... less than good made-for-TV movies. They gave us such gems as Mansquito, for instance. But I just saw an ad for a movie about murderous ravens entitled, wait for it, Kaw. Kaw!!!! As in the sound ravens and crows make, except that if I've ever seen it written out before it was certainly written with a "c" (though a Google search indicates that some people do indeed spell it with a "k"). Still... Kaw? They've really run out of real, or even made-up, words, and been reduced to onomatopoeia? Wow.

I'm A Laaaaaaaaaady...

You Are 40% Lady

You tend to make up your rules of etiquette, throwing all conventions aside. And while you try to be a lady (sometimes), your behavior is often quite shocking.

Are You A Lady?

(Via Manhattan Offender)

"Oh, Baby, Conjugate My Genitive!"

Dean Dad gives us dirty talk for word nerds.

Ah, The Dulcet Sounds...

...of snoring. Though it's a bulldog doing so in that clip, that's pretty much what a pug like my dear departed Dusty sounds like, too. Isn't it just adorable? (Dusty slept with my mother, not me, so I got to think it was cute, while she got to lose sleep to it. Thanks, Mom!)

(Via Cute Overload!)

And The Winner Is...

The winner of the first annual Becky, "awarded to the promulgater of the single most ridiculous or misleading bit of linguistic nonsense that somebody manages to put over in the media," is announced. Congrats to the cranks and the credulous fools who print them!

(Via Maud Newton)

More Answers To Your Burning Questions

More questions to answer!

Note:

What was your major, Mr. Nerd?

English, baby! The liberal arts major only slightly more useful in the job market than History! Wooooo! (No offense to my History major brethren and sistren; I love you! And you're probably more successful than I am, so don't pay me any mind.)

How long will it take you to give up on the real world and return to academia, where you can persue theory in peace?

As I've discussed before, towards the end of my college tenure I was quite certain I was going to become an academic. Once I got out, however, and started researching the academic world, I decided it totally wasn't for me. The whole "Life of the Mind" is a great dream, but the reality has so much other bullshit that I just couldn't deal with.

If you're not having sex on a regular basis, are you at least getting drunk? If so, with whom?

I don't drink. I've never been drunk in my life. I just don't "get" alcohol; I think it tastes foul. I think my mother, who also doesn't like alcohol, gave some sort of taste bud receptor mutation to my sister and I that makes alcohol just totally unappealing.

I often wonder, though, what kind of drunk I'd make. Would I turn angry? Start weeping? Get really, really lovey? Hopefully, I'll find out someday.

Even though you have a bad track record with the sex (thus far), what kind of fantasy kiss makes your knees melt?

I'm actually going to save this question and make a post out of it (coming from a slightly different track). Stay tuned!

and (for bonus points)

If boring is a trait exhibited by someone who actively seeks out new information on a regular basis, reads frequently and critically, all-the-while piecing together lots of grammatically correct prose, what the hell does an interesting person do?

Well, goes out and interacts with people occasionally.

Vince:

You mention you want to get laid in the next year. Give us some details. What is your perfect date? And how does it go from a date to a full on sexcapade?

I've given this a lot of thought and I really can't say I have a good answer. Dates are just... not my thing. Not that I've been on a lot of them or anything, but when I think "date," I think very pedestrianly: dinner, movie, heavy petting, etc. Actually, a nice night in front of a TV MST3King the heck out of it sounds divine, but that's more of a third or more date kind of thing. Bookstores are always cool.

Thanks, guys!

Yet Another Argument For Gun Control

Shoot me in the eyes, so I don't have to even accidentally ever see this again! My eyes!

Finally, A Place To Research My Dissertation Comparing Tobacco Use In Shelley And Voltaire!

Some of the New York Public Library's more unusual collections.

(Via Maud Newton)

Pack Your Bags, Y'All, We're Going To Coruscant!

Best Sci-Fi Movie Fashion

(Via Smart Bitches)

Library Trivia

Did you know Garfield is the 11th most widely held book among libraries? That Jesus is the most written about person in libraries? These and other fascinating facts regarding the 1000 titles most widely held by libraries here!

(Via Books, Inq.)

Canines In Danger!

A pair of Labrador Retrievers currently in Malaysia sniffing out pirated DVDs have had a hit placed on them. Baaaaaaad Malaysian pirating syndicates! Baaaaaaaaaad! Don't make me unleash Cute Overload! readers on you! Those people would make the Triads tremble!

Tests, Tests, Tests!

Your Leprechaun Name Is:

Sneaky Twinkletoes

What's Your Leprechaun Name?

Your Scandinavian Name is:

Jensen Love

What's Your Scandinavian Name?

You Are 2: The Helper

You always put on a happy face and try to help those around you. You're incredibly empathetic and care about everyone you know. Able to see the good in others, you're thoughtful, warm, and sincere. You connect with people who are charming and charismatic.

What Number Are You?

You Are a Chocolate Bunny

A traditionalist, you secretly want to dress up like a bunny. And not just on Easter.

What Easter Candy Are You?

Star Wars Horoscope for Libra

You are on a lifelong pursuit of justice and determined to succeed. You convey the art of persuasion through force. You always display your supreme intelligence. You have a great talent in obtaining balance between yourself and your surroundings. Star Wars character you are most like: Obi Wan Kenobi

What Is Your Star Wars Horoscope?

The Words! The Words... They Buuuuurn!

What the hell is this student talking about? Maybe you can figure it out, but all I get is that they apparently need to go live in a cave somewhere, because language pains him or her so much.

Something For The Fellows

How can you not love something put out by a label named Gay/Nerd Music? (NSFW)

(Via Towleroad)

Answers To Your Burning Questions

Recently, I solicited questions from you, my adoring fans, and promised that I'd answer them. But I'm fucking boring, so only two of you bothered to ask anything, which is just fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine. I mean, I don't care that no one loves me enough to even try and get to know me a little better. That's just swell!

ANYway, thanks to Bigg and Gayprof for being curious, and here are your answers!

Bigg:

What do you do for a living?

Well, I've kinda gone into this recently, so you know all about it, but, in a word: nothing.

What do you look for in a guy?

Humor. Intelligence. Wit. A big cock.

What do you do for fun?

I'm boooooooooooring as hell. My idea of fun is reading, watching TV, and surfing the Internet. No wonder I'm out of shape and celibate, huh?

GayProf:

Tell us what your plans are for the next year.

Nothing dramatic, just get a job, get laid, discover the cure for cancer. You know, no biggies.

Out And Proud

Read GayProf's post. It's brilliant. (Though thaat goes without saying, of course.) Especially because it encapsulates exactly my way of thinking about such matters.

On a slight tangent inspired by his post, though, I want to say that I truck not with (the very, very small group of) heterophobes and queer separationists/supremacists. But, though I can understand the impulse to want to "fit in," I really don't understand assimiliationists. One would think, looking at me -- white, solidly bourgeois, suburban, straight-acting (well, I look that way to people who don't know me very well, though, apparently) -- that I'd be all for it, since it's hardly a jump. But you forget one thing: I'm bloody boring as hell! I have nothing but respect for and not a little bit of envy towards, the drag queens and flamers, the porn stars and the leather pigs. Let us all be who we want to be and let our flame burn bright as we wish! Be boring or be brash; that's what individual freedom is for and we shouldn't try to squash that.

Welcome, Sport Fans

For the sports fans in the audience, I've done a link exchange with the lovely folks over at American Legends. I just hope that anyone who comes her from there isn't too disappointed when they see that my only interest in sports is half-naked sportsmen! Still, it's always good to expand one's horizons, so go check them out!

So, So True

Who Runs the Human Body?

In the human body, which organ is in charge?

All the organs of the body were having a meeting, trying to decide who was in charge.

The brain said: "I should be in charge, because I run all the body's systems, so without me nothing would happen."

"I should be in charge," said the heart, "because I pump the blood and circulate oxygen all over the body, so without me you'd all waste away."

"I should be in charge," said the stomach, "because I process food and give all of you energy."

"I should be in charge," said the rectum, "because I'm responsible for waste removal."

All the other body parts laughed at the rectum and insulted him, so in a huff, he shut down tight. Within a few days, the brain had a terrible headache, the stomach was bloated, and the blood was toxic. Eventually the other organs gave in. They all agreed that the rectum should be the boss.

The moral of the story?

You don't have to be smart or important to be in charge... just an *sshole.

(Via Comedy Central Jokes)

Everything I Ever Needed To Know About Greek History...

...I learned through Hollywood.

(Via Bread and Circuses)

On A Lazy Sunday...

...one posts a picture instead of writing anything!

(Via The Pretty Boys Club)

Begosh And Begorrah! It's Saint Paddy's Day!

It's Saint Patrick's Day, so go out, have some Guinness and protest the lack of gays in the NYC parade by bagging yourself a hot Irishman! Erin go Bragh!

(And for the redhead-lovers in the audience, check this guy out [mildly NSFW])!

Better Living Through Movie Reviews

Pajiba's just giving me all kinds of ideas today. This time, a movie review about credit debt leads to a comments section full of good advice and information. If you're a college student, read it! Don't let the credit card companies seduce you into getting into a pile of debt!

I Prefer To Be Called A "Garcon De Joie"*

An offhand remark elsewhere brings us the question: "How many partners does it take before one is 'officially' a slut/whore/skank/misogynistic-term-for-promiscuous-women- propagated-by-a-sexually-repressive-patriarchal-culture-obsessed- with-and-frightened-by-female-sexuality?"

Personally, I don't think sluttiness is a number or a frequency, but a state of mind. A true slut (as opposed to someone who is labeled that in jest by friends or by catty girls in high school in a volley of psychological warfare) is a slut not because they're sexually promiscuous, but because they're using sex for the wrong reasons: in a misguided effort to boost self-esteem, as a reaction to emotional trauma earlier in life, a manner of getting back at someone, a reaction to peer pressure, or some other maladaptive behavior. Enjoying sex and having multiple partners is not sluttiness; an unhealthy attitude towards sex that causes one to seek out sex for the wrong reasons is sluttiness.

But what do you guys think? Number, frequency, attitude? What makes a slut?

(* I have to thank Note for introducing me to that lovely synonym for "boy whore.")

Painful Confessions; or, Marketers Are Evil

From the "I hate to admit it because it makes me feel dirty and question my taste" file: the previews for Blades of Glory are making me think it might actually be really funny and that I kinda want to see it, despite the fact that I really don't "get" Will Ferell's appeal, and that I know that in the end it'll probably be really stupid and sucky. I hang my head in shame!

Evening News Gone Wild!

If only all local news was like this! My favorite part: around the 2:15 mark, where the designer seems to have gotten so distracted by the male model he forgets to answer the anchor's questions. *hehehe*

Oh, and all you Oxygen-watchers out there, looky who the first model is! Yes, it's Romania's hottest, indecipherable crybaby, Sorin! Thankfully, they didn't have him speak. He's much prettier when he doesn't have to speak. *LOL*

(Via Towleroad)

Failure

HeoCwaeth's latest post regarding her anxieties about being in grad school coming from a working class background elicited a strong response in me, because it actually touches on many aspects of my own current situation. I wrote a long-ass comment to her post, but I'm going to recopy it and rework it a little for here, just because I feel I really need to get it off my chest.

As long-time readers may be aware, nearly two years after graduating, I'm still unemployed. If my parents weren't so insanely wonderful, I'd be really screwed. Month after month of no reply to applications, or interviews that lead nowhere, is discouraging to say the least. Frankly, I often feel like an abject failure. Explaining to people that I'm still looking for a job is humiliating. Every time someone asks, "What do you want to do?" I mentally cringe and sigh and want to scream, "I DON'T KNOW! I JUST DON'T FRICKIN' KNOW! I just don't want to be a loser!" Of course, I don't say those things. I just hem and haw about "proofreading" and "editing" and "temporary jobs" and stuff. But the shame is real.

Not to toot my own horn, but I'm a smart fellow and everyone expected me to do really well right away, so I feel like I've let everyone, including myself, down by not. The worst thing is the thought that maybe I never will, that I'm not good for anything and just a bum who will never make anything of himself, that I wasted my education and natural intelligence by being lazy and unemployable. I don't want to be a wasted life.

It all comes down to fear of failure, of being a failure, of disappointing my parents, who have worked so hard to give me all the opportunities and luxuries I've enjoyed that others, perhaps more qualified and more deserving, have never gotten, which also adds guilt to the mix. And I also fear disappointing myself. I always promised myself that I'd find something I loved and do well at it, that I wouldn't have to do what my parents and sister have done, settle in jobs they don't necessarily like just to pay the bills. It doesn't look like I'll get to keep that promise, between the fact that I don't know really what I want to do, the fact that I can't get a job anyway, and the fact that I'll probably end up in some dead-end job I loathe just to keep afloat. That future scares me, almost as much as the thought that I'll never get a job at all.

It's not that I haven't touched on these issues with friends and family, but I'm both embarrassed by my situation and feel like such a whiner by complaining, so I just don't feel comfortable being fully honest with my loved ones. Objectively, I have things great, and I realize that. It's kinda cool to just be able to do whatever and not have to worry about making a living. But I can't live like this forever; I don't want to live like this forever! I can't just magically will a job into existence, though; if no one wants me, I just have to keep slogging on. And people just don't realize how tough it can be out there. Everyone wants tons of experience in these narrow little fields, and I just don't have that. And menial jobs aren't interested either because they see my education and think I'm too good for them and will be unhappy and leave fairly quickly, and, yes, probably, but I NEED A FUCKING JOB SO JUST GIVE ME ONE AND PAY ME! *breath* So I'm confined to this strange limbo of being either underqualified or overqualified and no one wants to touch me. (Kinda like my sex life. But that's another whine for another time.)

I don't know how much sense this all makes, and I know this probably doesn't all hang together cohesively, and it probably comes out as just another whinge by an over privileged middle class brat, so I doubt this is my best post. I just needed to write it out for myself.

My People Are So Articulate

Oh, my god!

Sidebar Welcome

Added Esme's Before the Beginning to the sidebar.

Words To Live By

folderol n 1) a useless ornament or accessory: trifle 2) nonsense

This ornament is just a cheap bit of folderol!

mansuetude n the quality or state of being gentle: meekness, tameness

The mansuetude of this species of primate is due to its lack of natural predators.

I'm Killer, Baby!

Get Your Monster Name

Get Your Cyborg Name

(Via Books, Inq.)

When Nerds Go Too Far

Stuff like this is what gives us all a bad name.

Listen up: Ninety-eight percent of nerds, geeks, dorks, gamers, Trekkers, "Jedi," comic book readers, anime fans, fanfic authors, convention-goers, and, yes, even furries, are sane, well-adjusted people with families and careers who are well aware of the line between reality and fantasy. We simply enjoy science-fiction or fantasy or one of their attendant activities as a hobby, and even those who are a little extreme in their devotion are mostly harmless, perfectly nice people, and still contributing members of society. We're not all losers who live in our parents' basement, never know the touch of a woman (because nerds are always straight in the popular imagination), and have absolutely no idea how to interact with/handle reality, thus retreating into perpetual adolescence and fantasy.

Because of the nature of the material and the openness of many science-fiction/fantasy media fandoms, we probably do have a high proportion of misfits, but misfit does not automatically equal crazy. Oh, we've got crazies, all right, but they'd be crazy regardless of their interests. And, frankly, there are crazy people everywhere, in any group you can think of. As with stupidity and the obnoxiousness, craziness is a trait well represented in every race, creed, color, class, profession, and pursuit; no one group has a lock on the maladjusted or the insane.

(Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go to my garage and complete my life-sized Battlestar Galactica Viper. I must complete it before next week, when the Cylons will attack and I will have to take over as wingman for Apollo. *LOL*)

(Via Bookninja)

"I'm Free!"

John Inman, best known as Mr. Humphries from Are You Being Served?, has died.

This makes me very sad, folks; I'm an Anglophile by nature, I think, but the Anglophilia was really jump started by Are You Being Served? and the other PBS Britcoms. Mr. Humphries was my favorite character and his portrayer a wonderful gentleman who was beloved by everyone who knew him. It is truly a sad loss; he will be sorely missed.

Though the character's fey, campy qualities are considered problematic by some, I always thought Mr. Humphries was actually a very positive portrayal of a gay man (especially for the 1970s). He was accepted and loved by his peers, had a rich and varied social life, and was, frankly, probably the most sensible one on the show. In sum, he was fabulous, in every sense of the word, and that's not a bad thing for a young gay to see on the TV sceen.

My sincerest condolences go out to his partner, friends, family, and fans. Farewell, John Inman, and thank you for the laughter.

The Ten Greatest Heterosexual Men Of Our Time

If this is the best you breeders got, then all I can say is, "God love ya!" to all the straight women out there! You gals got it rough!

(Via Gawker)

Okay...

...who bought the Obi-Wan robe? Because I now want to have dirty, geeky sex with you! (As long as you look like Ewan McGregor, anyway.)

(Via Defamer)

In Which I Ste... Er... BORROW An Idea

So these guys are doing a Q&A kind of thing where commenters can ask them questions. Now, both of those blogs are sexier and more interesting than mine (also potentially NSFW, BTW), and, thus, have higher readerships, but content is content, so... what do you want to know?

Happy Now, Sparks?

Vince's penis is mad, presumably also bad and dangerous to know. Beware!

Sorry, Folks...

...I just ain't got nothin' this week, apparently. I hate not having any content for you, my most wonderful and devoted readers, but that lazy-ass Muse of mine is taking another nap. My fellow bloggers are also letting me down, insofar as there's nothing out there I can even just link to. Hopefully, I'll have something tomorrow.

I Insulted An Englishman

So I was at this retirement party today for a friend of mine who has been a professor of Health & Exercise Science for some 35 years (and, yes, I was decades younger than almost all the other people there), because I roll hardcore like that, and I think I mortally insulted an Englishman. You see, he was across from me at the table and had this lovely accent.

Looking for topics of conversation (I didn't know anyone there except for the guest of honor and one other person), I asked him, "So how did a nice Aussie like you doing in New Jersey?"

Finishing chewing a bite of sandwich, he gave a rather withering look, and said, "I'm not Australian."

"Really?" I rejoined. "New Zealander?"

"No, I'm an Englishman."

Turns out he's from London. Apparently, though, he's been mistaken for an Aussie before, even by real Aussies, so that made me feel better, since I'm rather good at recognizing accents, and, since the Australian accent is heavily based on London Cockney of the 19th century, it makes some sense that at least some areas of London still produce an accent that sounds similar.

Still, it was a bit... awkward. I was a little afraid he'd go hooligan on me there for a sec. But I wasn't headbutted from across the table, and we ended up having a nice conversation about John Adams and Thomas Jefferson. He's quite knowledgeable about American history, it turns out, moreso than most Americans, I'd hazard (though, sadly, that isn't terribly difficult).

Apologia Pro Descriptivism

Being of a descriptivist leaning in matters of language doesn't mean you "don't care" about language, or have no firm opinions about its usage, or think we should all just live in anarchy. It just means we don't go around alternately wringing our hands at and handing down jeremiads against those "heathens" who dare transgress some niggling little rule or another. We think language is beautiful because of its malleability: language is always changing, and that's great! We get our kicks from looking at and understanding language change from a historical/cultural/social/linguistic viewpoint, not in denigrating those who don't hew to some sort of imagined golden age of stylistic purity. We understand that all the hand-wringing in the world isn't going to stand in the way of split infinitives or the use of "ain't"; we cannot change the ever-changing. Being a descriptivist also means that we (try, at least) to overcome the pride and elitism at the base of much prescriptivist thought.

Language is not just for a few stuffy, self-appointed arbiters to hoard and lord over; language is for everyone!

To Be Honest, I HAVE Thought About It Before...

...but "like a 9 volt battery" certainly isn't a flavor I would have considered. It almost (though not at all, really) makes me want to taste it for myself. I love metallic tangs. I think I'll pass, though.

Just GREAT!

You'll die from an Unlikely Illness (like the plague).

You will unfortunately succumb to a random and unlikely disease. Only to find out after death that eating more broccoli would have cured you.

'How will you die?' at QuizGalaxy.com

(Via Pharyngula)

I Amuse Myself So; or, I Have Absolutely Nothing Else To Write About Tonight, So I'll Throw This Out There

When my Dear, Departed Dusty still lived, any time anyone would say "Son of a bitch!" in front of him, I would cover his ears and mock-scold them for making him think sons of bitches were a bad thing. Though if they called HIM a "son of a bitch", I would simply point out that, to him, that's not an insult, since he actually was a son of a bitch. Either way, I always chuckled at myself for my tremendous wittiness.

That's it; that's my story. Isn't it posts like this that keep you coming back?