Blow Me Down

Not everyone's reading Sully these days, so I thought I'd pass this one along, since he's made a rather surprising admission:

IRAQ: It behooves me to write that I'm chastened - and extremely heartened - by the progress we're making in Iraq. The elections were obviously the key - and they should have been scheduled at least a year before they were. But it's equally true that the constancy of our amazing troops, and the magic of democracy, are turning this long hard slog into a long hard slog with an end in sight. The criticisms of the past endure. But the fundamental objective seems to be within sight. The right decision - to remove Saddam - is no longer being stymied by wrong decisions. I feared the worst. I was wrong.

Did you get that? He said he was wrong about Iraq.

Jesus Christ on a piece of toast!

Say what you will about the man, but I find this action very, very classy.

Bad Boys, Bad Boys...

....whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when you're sniffing that glue?

Er, sorry. I couldn't help but continue on with the Cops antidote. I didn't want y'all to be poisoned. Ahem. Bygones.

Anyway, it would be Tuesday, which, of course, means yet another installment of The Daring Demystifying Divas. Today's topic: bad boys and why women, indeed, love them.

If I had a nickel for every time a guy, after a long night of drinking and smoking, asked me, "Kath, why do women like jerks?" I'd be a rich woman. This complaint was laid at my feet frequently in the golden days of yore, generally, because I was the nice girl they were walking home. If their evening had gone as planned, I wouldn't be anywhere in the vicinity. Their definition of a jerk was one who swooped in at the last minute, ruining well laid plans. I prefer to call the guys who did the swooping business "bad boys." Because, ultimately, that's what they are---bad boys.

I never answered these guys seriously when they asked. I always tried to boost their confidence by saying things like, "Oh, she's nuts. She's not worthy of you," and so on and so forth. The last thing they needed from me at that stage of the game was to lay out the facts of the matter.

Well, times have changed. I'm not walking home from the bars with yet another heartbroken man. I am blogging. I am supposed to be "demystifying" things. So I will, indeed, lay it all out for the men.

Now, as I see it, the attractions of the bad boy are many---one of which is that they generally ride motorcycles---but I think it ultimately comes down to the fact that they don't give a rat's ass about what the world thinks of them. They're not oblivious, by any means. They just don't give a damn. There's something very liberating in that, and freedom, as we all know, is a heady elixir. To be liberated from the say-so of society? Not to conform your life to what other people think you should be doing or saying? Not to care a whit if you're poaching on someone else's territory?

Well, wow.

One could get drunk on that potion rather quickly and easily, as if it was a shot of tequila, instead of a rush to the system. There's something very manly in that action that gets the estrogen to pumping, ya dig? It's quite sexy. Even if you know firsthand that the guy is a Grade 'A' Prime asshole. Some of us just don't care.

I know. It makes absolutely no sense, right? If women make judgments based on our emotions and brains rather than on our hormones, well, we'd pick the nice guy each and every time, right? We'd find niceness sexy, right? Well, I hate to tell you this, darlings, but we do possess hormones and when you get that sort of rush, well, I think those of you who possess the vaunted XY chromosome could relate, eh?

Ok. Knowing that's probably not going to fly, I shall valiantly push on with the demystifying, because there's more to come. There's the good news. I did mention that there was good news, right? I didn't. Oh, well. Sorry about that, but there is indeed good news, so ungird your loins: women get tired of bad boys. We do, indeed, move on to the nice guys. Eventually most women become accustomed to the hormone rush and decide that, "hey, most bad boys treat me like shit." They will dissect what they found attractive in their particular bad boy and they will look for the good qualities they liked and will try to find those in a nice guy. And there are plenty of nice guys out there, it's just a matter of finding the right one. One who has the proper blend of good guy and jerk.

So now that things are as clear as mud, go and see if the other Daring Demystifying Divas can clear things up for you. If you're a lady, know that the Macho Men'sClub have flipped the coin and are tackling the topic of bad girls, and why men love them. See, kids? We really do have something for everyone!

These Are Not The Droids You Seek

As if it was a birthday party, my Maximum Leader decided to have a Star Wars themed weekend.

Light sabers were purchased.

Go read all about it.

Silly Germans!

From Davids Medienkritik we have the lovely story of the VP of the Bundestag floating some interesting conspiracy theories.

Her theory is so whacked, even Der Speigel is calling her out.

No other country's citizens provides me with as much amusement as the Germans. I love ya, folks. Keep it up!

Thanks!

Well, the FIRST ANNUAL HAVE YOUR CAKE BLEGATHON is now officially over.

The regular readers can come back now. Did you hear that, kids? Antiques Roadshow will now be seen at its regularly scheduled time again. You will no longer be forced to watch Josh Groban warble at warp speed. Come on back!

Anyhoo...I would like to thank all of my contributors for finally allowing me to claim I'm a "real writer," meaning that I've been paid for my work! You've helped me realize a life goal, and I appreciate it.

For the rest of you slackers, well, eh? As long as you sent me some happy thoughts you're in the clear. You did send some happy thoughts, right? I have this sinking feeling that you didn't and that I won't be able to escape from Neverland and the evil clutches of Captain Hook (ha ha! get it?) anytime soon. So, not only are you cheap ass bastards, you couldn't get it together in time to send me happy thoughts...of all the nerve! Slackers.

The bitterness that I'm not suddenly able to afford a spring getaway to Jamaica aside, the Pay Pal key is still up there. And it's staying put, so throw some cash in the kitty if you ever get the chance. Or you can buy some crap from Cafe Press. Either way is good.

Bowling For Dollars

Note to my devoted Cake Eater Readers: this post will stay at the top of the page until next Monday, April 11, 2005.

{Insert Kath feeling mighty uncomfortable about what she is about to do here}

Ahem.

The Cake Eater Chronicles has just morphed into a for-profit enterprise.

Yes. That feeling that just hit your gut is absolutely right on: this is a blegging post.

For almost two years now, I have been using the Cake Eater as a repository for thoughts that had nowhere else to go. Surprisingly, a goodly number of you started showing up to read said thoughts and got something out of them. For that I am eternally in your debt, and as my father is wont to say, "your kindness will never be mentioned." (And, yes, I know that doesn't fit, particularly since I'm mentioning it right now, but it doesn't really fit when my dad says it, either, yet he says it anyway, so like father like daughter, blah, blah, blah.) Nothing is so satisfying to a writer as actually having readers because the whole enterprise is something of a wash if no one really cares all that much. I'm glad to have you, and while in the past I've asked for donations for charitable causes, I've never really asked anything of my readers for myself, other than the odd plea for comments.

That, my devoted Cake Eater readers, is about to change with the FIRST ANNUAL "HAVE-YOUR-CAKE-BLEG-A-THON!"

Woot!

Yeah, I know. I'm having a hard time getting excited about it, too, so I can't blame you for your lack of enthusiasm.

As many of you know, I do not contribute anything to the GDP of the Cake Eater household. The husband does this and I am grateful to him for it because he works his fine, fine non-ass off at it. But it's time I contributed something. Since the novel isn't in any shape to send out, and I spend a goodly portion of my free time on this thing, I must work with what I've got---which would be you, my devoted Cake Eater readers.

You will notice that on the upper left sidebar, there is a now a PayPal "Make a Donation" key. If you're so inclined, click on it and donate what you can. I'm not that picky. If all you can afford is five bucks, I'm thankful for it. If you are like my mother and are leery of internet transactions, yet would like to contribute, drop me a line and I'll send you the snail mail address to the Cake Eater Pad. If you can't afford to give anything at all (and believe me, I understand that) send me some happy thoughts and all will be well with the world.

Now the reason I am so uncomfortable doing this is because whenever money is involved, strings suddenly become attached. It's just the nature of the beast. This blogging exercise will turn into a quid pro quo excursion and I don't really like the thought of that. I'm selling out. But it's past time for me to do this, hence I will have to suck it up.

Conversely, I also understand that a goodly number of people have been soured on this experience by a particular blogger's bleg-a-thons. This particular blogger not only refused to attach the strings, he blatantly abused his readership in the process by lying to them, and gave the rest of us bloggers an undeserved black-eye in the process. I can't tell you what to do. But I will say this much: I'm not going to guilt you into giving. If you can and you're inclined, thank you very much. I appreciate it. If you can't give anything or have been turned off by blogger bleg-a-thons, no hassles. I understand.

In conclusion, I will say thanks for everything. Showing up, reading, commenting, and if you are able, for helping increase the Cake Eater Household GDP. I appreciate it all.

Wrong

No matter which way you slice it, allowing Cardinal Law to say mass as part of the Novemdiales is just wrong.

It just is.

News Flash

{Yawn. In an interested sort of way.}

Michael Moore is a big fat liar. And yes I do mean that in the metaphorical sense, although I could see where you'd think I was being literal.

I still think he needs to be rolled over by a gigantic wheel of brie, too.

{HT: Galley Slaves}

And While We're on the Subject of Good Tee Vee

That magnificent little bastard will be back come May 1st.

Estrogenical tyranny is BACK, baby! Set your Tivos accordingly.

Good Tee Vee Reminder

The new season of Wire in the Blood starts tonight on BBC America.

Woohoo!

Ceremonial Headresses

So, what did you all think about all the black lace worn on Friday at John Paul II's funeral?

We have Queen Paola from Belgium.

There's Laura Bush.

And there's your brand spankin' new Secretary of State, Condoleeza Rice.

Vatican II decreed that women did not have to cover their heads at mass---any mass, including the Pope's funeral---anymore. This is well-known by Catholics worldwide. This act forever freed women from trying to pin a scrap of lace onto their heads before they hurried into church.

So, what I want to know is which member of the Vatican protocol office told all these women---more than a few of them non-Catholics, who wouldn't know better---they should cover their heads?

Bear with me here. While I can understand wearing a hat or covering your head is a sign of respect in some faiths, it is not necessary in Catholicism, or even for a visit to the Holy See. It's not a tradition. It's not a custom that needs to be observed.

What the hell is going on here?

Do you honestly think that Laura Bush called up Bernadette Chirac and asked, "What are you wearing to the funeral tomorrow?" There was just too much black lace going on at that funeral for it to be a spontaneous thing. That Condi---the chief U.S. diplomat---wore a mantilla, too, signals to me there's a wee bit more going on here.

Condi is the Secretary of State of the United States. If she went to Saudi Arabia, she would be instructed to cover her head to honor local custom. It would be the same if she were in Iran, where it's the law that all women, no matter what their faith is, should cover their heads. That's protocol. That's following the "when in Rome," line so that the natives aren't offended. Why, as the chief diplomat, was she instructed for her visit to the Holy See that she needed to wear a mantilla to the Pope's funeral? Why is this a matter of protocol?

I know it's the Pope's funeral and all, but there were plenty of women who didn't have their heads covered. Several women sitting with the delegations were bare headed. The woman who read the first reading didn't have her head covered. She wasn't banned from the lectern because her unseemly hair was showing. It was out there, flowing in the breeze, and no one shot her dirty looks. Yet, the black lace certainly was flowing when it came to the diplomatic delegations, wasn't it?

Why is that, do you think? Pope John Paul II was definitely a stickler for the rules, but not even he demanded that women start covering their heads again. He never declared this particular aspect of Vatican II to be something that was in need of correction. So, why is it that someone thought it was necessary to inform women that they should cover their heads? Hmmmm?

And moreover, what precisely does it mean? That the Church wanted to put out a more conservative image and what better way to do that than to get all the powerful females to show this off, like they were strolling down the red carpet at the Oscars? This bothers me greatly. It shouldn't, I know. But a pope who'd been pope for twenty-six years dies, there are huge rumors swirling about who will be his successor and what direction he'll take the church in and we get mantillas at the pope's funeral?

Hmmmm. What point are they trying to make?

Blog Netiquette

While this statement will undoubtedly come back to bite me in the ass later on when I decide to break the rules, it's about time someone finally decided to devote a blog to blog etiquette. There are simply too many simple rules of blogging that some of us long-term bloggers take for granted that new bloggers may not know about.

Darling Phin, as a contributor to this new blog, has asked his fellow bloggers to provide examples of what agitates them. Instead of hogging his comments section, I decided to post over here, which will also perhaps spread the word about this new blog.

If you're interested in what agitates me as a blogger, well, read on after the jump.

The Husband Approved This Post

The husband is the resident Cake Eater Cat Hater (TM). He's deathly allergic. As such, he's just giving as good as he gets, so you cat lovers need not unite against him, ya dig? They started it.

Anyway, as you might expect, he laughed heartily when I read him this post.

I fully expect him to hijack this post and start posting in leet speak about how cats are evil.

{Hat Tip: Doug}

C Is For...Cucumber?

{Clicket on image for larger. Unless you have Superman-like eyes and can read it perfectly already. Which leads one to wonder: why are you reading my blog when you could be out, looking around, and seeing what sort of underwear people are wearing with your X-Ray vision?}

SCOTT KURTZ RULES! Preach it, brother!

The story is here if you're interested. Which you should be, because it means no more "C is for Cookie." Cookies are now a "sometimes food."

As the self-proclaimed defender of all that is good and wonderful in this world, I have decided I need you, my devoted Cake Eater readers, to lend your assistance to ensure Cookie Monster's original vision is kept alive. Think of it as a sort of Fahrenheit 451 action, only with music instead of some book. I will need you to download it and then back it up to a very safe place. You will then need memorize the song and sing it often so we can keep it alive for our young ones. Or until Sesame Street comes to its senses and decides to relocate out of New York City.

You can find the regular version here. And if the funk is running through your veins this afternoon, well, here's the disco version.

Wedded Bliss

Chuck and Cammie got married this morning.

Good for them. They seem to be pretty happy about finally tying the knot. Best wishes to them from the Cake Eater, yadda, yadda, yadda.

I just have a few questions, though.

Given his family's historical desire to usurp the throne, why on earth would you invite this guy to be a guest though?

Isn't that just asking for trouble? Or is that just following the "keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer" mantra?

I mean, seriously. All you need is for Baldrick to show up and proclaim, "I have a cunning plan," and whoops! There goes the monarchy!

That Diva Sez

Feisty Chrissy has been answering all your very important questions.

You know how you're supposed to learn something new everyday? Well, this is your opportunity for today! Go and read.

Just in case you're interested, know that lil' ol' me is up to bat next Friday, so clicket on the Demystifying Divas button over on the right sidebar and send your questions to the divas sez email box. I need your questions by next Thursday evening so the gray matter has some time to work on them.

I will start eating fish right now to get said gray matter in shape.

I look forward to hearing from all of you!

Help! Help! I'm Being Repressed!

Fight the powers that be!

Woot!

/sarcasm /channeling Public Enemy

Some choice quotes on the repression of women in the blogosphere:

{...} But, one aspect of blogging Lauter finds disheartening is its coverage in mainstream media as an adult male political phenomenon.

“We are seeing more focus in mass media on blogs that are created by men. When in fact, the statistics show that more women are blogging than men,” Lauter said. {...}

Lauter said she believes the disparity in media coverage is a reflection of our society’s values. “I think that gets at another kind of inequity in terms of value. Valuing some of these blogs that are more political, more business-oriented, and privileging them over other kinds of blogs that may not be as edgy. A privileging of socially constructed ‘male issues’ over ‘women’s issues,’” said Lauter.

And male bloggers are helping to reinforce that privilege. Clancy Ratliff, a Ph.D. student at the University of Minnesota who is researching blogs, found that the most popular male bloggers rarely include women bloggers on their blogroll—a list of weblinks to other blogs the author visits and references frequently.

Ratcliff’s pilot study found that on the top 10 blogs defined by Technorati, a search engine that tracks more than 7 million blogs, just 16 percent of blogrolls provide links to female bloggers. Men are linking with men.

Some of the reasons for the male bias may harken back to more traditional forms of communication, Ratcliff said.

“I think it is kind of a self-perpetuating mechanism where male bloggers see all the op-ed pieces by men about foreign policy and blog about that,” said Ratliff. She said she feels the lack of women in the newsroom contributes to this disparity both in the real world and online, and helps to marginalize the issues women are blogging about. “A lot of times women’s issues like reproductive rights are not as often treated as serious political issues like the war in Iraq,” Ratliff said. {...}

{empahsis mine}

Please. For the last time. There is no lack of diversity in the blogosphere. I am sick to effin' death of reading this crap already. Let's air some things out:

• There are women in the blogosphere. We write. About any number of things. As do the men. It's all about the content, baby, and not really about who's writing it. Now that's gender equality!
• The fact that we have vaginas and tits does not mean Vodkapundit and Insty and the rest of the big dogs are repressing us. All it means is that we haven't taken over. Yet. And all we'd have to do is schedule the Great American Flash-O-Rama and we'd win. Hands down. Now there's some feminism for ya!
• Susan Estrich needs to be bitchslapped for starting this whole brouhaha off. And I'm just the bitch to do it.
• If you treat me like an effin' victim one more time, Farrah Fawcett ala The Burning Bed will have nothin' on my wrath.
• Have I mentioned that I'm not being repressed because The Cake Eater Chronicles is not in the top 100?
• I am however in the top thousand. So you can go ahead and bite me.
• Men are free to link to whomever they damn well want to link. I, too, am free to link whomever I want to link. That's called "Hyperlink Justice" in Cake Eater Lingo. I link things I find interesting. If I don't find your stuff interesting, I won't link you. Conversely, if someone doesn't find my stuff interesting, they are under no obligation to link to it just because I possess a (fabulous) pair of breasts

Get off this goddamn topic already, would you? It's a waste of time because it misses the goddamn point. To quote a marvelous female blogger:

{...}First and foremost I am a writer. That the content that makes up The Cake Eater Chronicles comes from a female shouldn't have anything to do with the validity of the opinions presented. They either have merit or they do not. It's quite simple. The blogosphere is all about ideas and opinions. It's a veritable smorgasbord. There's something for everyone. The sex of the author shouldn't come into the equation unless we're talking about things directly related to our sex---like tampons or jock straps. To miss this point is to miss the exact essence of the blogosphere. And the internet, for that matter.

Now, go and read what Doug and the MAWB have to say about all of this.

See also: Red and Sadie

Dancing Hippos

The Kath she got a good chuckle out of this.

The Kath she has really got to stop herself from the stealing of the Manolo's schtick.

But the Kath is having ever-so-much-the-fun referring to herself in the third person and adding in the extra articles for the hell of the it.

Er.

Ok, I'm out of it. Sad, but true. Bummer.

{Hat Tip: Puffy}

Social Responsibility

My good friends and former roommates, Barb and Christy, always used to despair this time of year.

I know. It's hard to understand why, just when the lovely season that is spring would be getting underway, they would despair. The air was warming. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. The bees were buzzing. The grass was turning green and the flowers were starting to bloom. Life is wonderful come April, no?

Well, not for them it wasn't.

Why? you ask. Well, that's a good question and I'm glad you asked it. You see, Babs and Christy were, at that stage of the game, budding fashionistas. They were learning the ropes of fashion. They were learning what were good grooming habits and what were not good grooming habits. They eventually came to the conclusion that it is the social responsibility of every woman who wears sandals to have her toes painted and her feet in good working condition. That these women were letting our side down if they didn't get a pedicure before succumbing to the desire to wear airy shoes. I laughed them off for years, but now, well, I wholeheartedly agree with them. It is the social responsibility of every woman who wears sandals to have her feet in good working order because....

...if I have to see yet another woman walking around in a $300 pair of mules with nasty-ass scaly heels hanging off the back of said mules, I'm going to puke!

This action, to put it quite bluntly, is disgusting. Do you get it, ladies? Your heels are disgusting! You may think they're not that bad, but trust me, they are! I don't want to see it. I really, really don't. I doubt men do, either. If your feet repulse you; if they bring to mind the "To The Pain" speech from The Princess Bride because you're afraid that someone is going to scream, "Dear God, what is that thing?" you probably shouldn't be wearing sandals or mules, no? I'm sure The Manolo he would agree with me.

It consistently surprises the Kath that here in the fair fiefdom of Cake Eater Land, where you cannot swing a dead cat without hitting a spa (and I really mean that. there are eight---count 'em---eight spas within walking distance of the Cake Eater Pad) that there are the women who do this. And the Kath is not talking about the poor women here. The Kath is talking about the rich bitches who drive the Lexus' and the Beemers and carry the Prada handbags. These women walk into the grocery store, wearing lovely mules that the Kath would love to be able to afford and wear, and hanging off the back end of the lovely mules are heels that would make a baby scream in horror.

The Kath she begs you to get a pedicure. If you cannot afford the pedicure, the Kath beseeches you to give yourself one. The Kath she begs you to take a bath and to take one of these things with you when you do. The Kath she begs you to buy some of this stuff and to start using it every day, twice a day. But mostly, the Kath she begs you not to wear the sandals or the mules until you do these things so she does not have to look at your nasty feet in the shoes that she covets.

Late

As in Zonker is late chiming in on the Cheating topic.

It's worth the wait, though.

UPDATE: Madame Sadie has some visuals for The Men's Club.

Methinks they fared better than the Demystifying Divas did.

Fraternite

According to Olivier Guitta it seems there's not much of that going on in France currently.

Some choice excerpts from his article.

{...}On March 8, tens of thousands of high school students marched through central Paris to protest education reforms announced by the government. Repeatedly, peaceful demonstrators were attacked by bands of black and Arab youths--about 1,000 in all, according to police estimates. The eyewitness accounts of victims, teachers, and most interestingly the attackers themselves gathered by the left-wing daily Le Monde confirm the motivation: racism.

Some of the attackers openly expressed their hatred of "little French people." One 18-year-old named Heikel, a dual citizen of France and Tunisia, was proud of his actions. He explained that he had joined in just to "beat people up," especially "little Frenchmen who look like victims." He added with a satisfied smile that he had "a pleasant memory" of repeatedly kicking a student, already defenseless on the ground.

{...}By coincidence, last week the French government's human rights commission delivered to Prime Minister Jean-Pierre Raffarin its 2004 report on racism and anti-Semitism in France. The report underscores a worrisome pattern of retreat into separate ethnic communities. And the evidence of hostility is sobering: The number of violent acts and threats nearly doubled, from 833 in 2003 to a record 1,565 in 2004. Of these, 62 percent were
directed against Jews, who make up just 1 percent of France's population.

{...}Obin discusses the attitudes of Muslim students, some as young as first graders. He reports, for instance, that Muslim students, asked their nationality, answer, "Muslim." When they are told that this is not a nationality and they are French, some insist that they can't be French since they are Muslim. This should come as no surprise. The presidential commission that examined the issue of secularism in 2003 reported that "extremist groups are working to test the Republic's strength and push some young people to reject France and her values."

{emphasis mine}

Go read the whole thing.

There is much at stake here. It seems as if the French are perhaps awakening to this problem, but I don't think the measures they're taking are strong enough to stop it completely. They need a better reporting system, first off, but there is still much they could do. They're still in pc/appeasement mode. Which is ironic, don't you think, considering how willing they are to put themselves on the line when they feel their culture and language is under attack by the English-speaking hordes?

Sin City: Again With the Redux Business

You can find previous posts here and here.

I'm a wee bit late with this one, but, as promised, I am delivering Jonathan's review of Sin City

The husband and I are going to try and see it this Saturday. I should have something for you then.

Because I know you're dying to know what I thought of it.

Still No Self-Control

When it comes to this sort of thing. Sigh. Swiped from TeaFizz, who also has their own post on yesterday's Demystifying Diva topic that you should go read.

If you're interested in the meme du jour, read on after the jump.

Questions, Damnit!

Why is it that every week I have to remind you people to cough up questions for our Divas Sez Friday feature?

What? Haven't you been paying attention? Geez. We've been doing this for almost a month! That's practially the longest running feature in the blogosphere!

I know. I know. You've been busy. You've been avoiding my site because I'm looking for coin and you don't want to feel guilty about not coughing up. You also are loathe to admit you are such a fan of blogs and bloggers that you emultate us by adopting our habit of having attention spans that are roughly the size of your average gnat. I know all about this, but come on, kids! We're here to answer all of your very important questions. Take advantage of the situation, for cryin' out loud!

So, here's what you're going to do: you're going to clicket on baby-got-back-girl over on the right sidebar. An email prompt will pop up. You're going to fill it with that one question about the fairer sex that you've been dying to ask, if only you'd had an outlet for such a question. You will then send it off.

Feisty Chrissy will do her absolute best to answer it on Friday and, to paraphrase Bertie Wooster, God, as I once heard Jeeves put it, will be in His heaven and all will be right with the world. (He added, I remember, some guff about larks and snails, but that is a side issue and need not detain us.)

You will then do this again next week. On the off chance that you will have become so well-adjusted as a result of Chrissy's brilliance, you will spread the word to your friends and family and ask them to send questions to the Divas Sez mailbox for the next Diva to answer. Which, if memory serves, will be me.

Got it? Good. Let's not have this discussion again next week, ok? One gets bored when one has to repeat themselves.

The Lexicon of Polyamory Relationships

Oh, good grief.

They believe in free love and multiple relationships, but not casual sex - and enjoy feeling "frubbly".

As a group they practise "polyamory" - the latest social phenomenon to cross the Atlantic to Britain, psychologists heard yesterday.

Polyamorists have relationships that are wide open. Despite having numerous partners at any one time, they are emotionally committed and do not cheat on them.

So, what these folks are doing is outside of the mainstream. They're rejecting the traditional Western monogamy construct as artificial. As such, one psychologist has decided these people (she's one of them, too) need a whole new language.

{...}Polys, as practitioners of polyamory term themselves, now need new words to describe their emotions and actions, Dr Barker said.

Some terms have been coined already. "Ethical slut" is used to define a woman in an open multiple relationship and is an attempt to take the stigma out of "slut". Feeling "frubbly" is described as the opposite to feeling jealous and is used to describe feelings of friendship towards a lover and their other partners, who are called "metamours".

A "wibble" is a jealous feeling but "not a massive sexual threat", Dr Barker said. "We are interested in another language," she told the conference. "The question is, when you are not having a standard relationship, what do you do for words? There are no words for what we do."{...}

{Insert head slamming on desk here}

Ok, bitch. Develop a whole new language to describe the fact that you like a little variety in your love-life. But don't try and tell me that by developing this whole new language you're not trying to rationalize your actions. Because you are. Even if you don't realize it.

Which is pretty pathetic, on the whole, if you ask me.

Hat tip: The Daily Ablution.

Dead Meat

Or should I say "dead fish"?

Can you barbeque dead guppy? Or would it be too much of a waste of time?

Random Thoughts

Some of the stuff that's going through my mind right now.

• Note to the boy and girl ducks that are in my yard right now: don't even THINK about getting down in my garden. The Cake Eater garden is not a duckie brothel. Go elsewhere to get your groove on.

  And don't fly up to the garage roof, either, to lay your eggs. I don't want a repeat of what happened last summer when you almost abandoned your baby ducks because you were too fucking fat and lazy to fly back up to them.

  Duck shortage in Minnesota my fine wide arse!

• Serious props go out to the deli guy at our local Lunds. Way to slice that pastrami extra thin. Mmmmmm. It was magically delicious.
• It may be almost eighty degrees right now, but it's going to snow again. I know it.
• Rainbath is the shit.
• Hey, lookie! I finally met Robbo and we partied down at the Crack Young Staff's first anniversary ball. Steve-o, unsurprisingly, was nowhere to be found. Seems as if Sadie and The Maximum Leader cut quite the rug, too.
• Thanks to everyone who has donated to the First Annual Have Your Cake Blegathon so far. You know who you are. I know who you are. God knows who you are. Your bases are covered. For the rest of you? Well, eh. Thanks to those who linked as well. You rule!
• While I like the sound of it, "Editrix" is not a word.
• It sucks that House is a rerun tonight.
• I wonder if Ith realizes that if you type "House M.D." into Google (Whilst looking for the link to the actual Fox site. Ahem.) her site is the third entry listed.
• I was up until 3:30 this morning. I am officially justified in taking a nap.
• I am going to go and take that nap. Right now. I've hit the wall.

This is yet another example, my devoted Cake Eater readers, of what it's like to be inside my head. I hope you've enjoyed the ride. Now, get out.