- And I said “You’d sleep with any woman under the right circumstances? How about a transsexual?” And he said “Not until they perfect the technology...”

- Heh.

- What?

- Most guy would probably tell you the same thing.  I was just thinking that exact answer--not until they perfect the technology.

- You don’t think the technology’s pretty good now?

- No, I think that right now it’s pretty much like a catcher’s mitt.  Look, it’s like buying a hybrid car.  You don’t want to rush into it.

- You want to wait until they work out the kinks.

- Exactly.  It’s like, you bide your time a few years, and then you think “Okay now I’ll buy a fuel efficient car--and also have sex with a post op.”

I’ve been reading a lot of the Christian protests against the movie The Davinci Code.  C.J. Doyle of the Catholic Action League said, “Frankly I’d urge every Catholic never to go to another movie involving Tom Hanks.” That’s some good smiting, C.J. Doyle!  Your incendiary assault will no doubt wreak havoc upon the Hanks financial empire!  But I wouldn’t be so quick to bring out the heavy artillery.  Christianity has survived Galileo, and it has survived Darwin--but I don’t know what would happen if people had to choose between their spiritual lives and whether they’re allowed to rent Turner and Hooch.

I’ve decided that they might all be right and the story of The DaVinci Code might be an affront against God.  On the same weekend that the movie made over $200 worldwide, Northern California experienced rain on both Saturday and Sunday--in May--preventing me from going running when I wanted to.  That’s the most tangible evidence of God’s anger that I’ve ever seen.

I didn’t want to see the movie anyway.  I read the book and thought it was agreeable trash, and then I was excited because the heroine was in her 30s and attractive and French and so I thought “They have to cast Julie Delpy!  I love Julie Delpy.” But no, they go and cast Audrey Tautou, who is in her 20s.  Hanks is 50; that volates the half-plus-seven rule, and that’s more of an affront to the cosmic state of things than whatever conspiracy plot has the Church types up in arms.

I was reading an article in the Times that refutes the idea that anyone currently living is related to Jesus because, according to the writer, anyone whose descendents survive for a millennium would be the forefather of every single person currently living on Earth.  In other words, either none of us are related to Jesus or we all are.  Huh? I didn’t get it either, but I’m just as happy not to be related to Jesus.  My Aunt once sent me an excited email revealing that her genealogical investigation of our family line indicated that we were, in fact, direct descendents of Jesus.  That’s way too much pressure.  I don’t mind being made in His image--that just means that male pattern baldness is Divine, as I’ve always postulated--but I don’t need the pressure of living up to the example of the Son of God.  After a hard weekend I’ve only spent about two days knocked out; I strongly doubt I could ever make it a hat trick.

When I started preschool at age four, I didn’t take to it very well.  In my first week or so, I got into several fights.  I bit one kid on the neck and locked another in a closet.

If you were to make some guesses about my future life based on those incidents, you’d have to conclude that I became a violent adult. But I grew out of it.  For example, last week I only bit one person on the neck. The week before that I only locked one person in the closet.  I’ve mellowed out considerably.

That’s why it bothers me that my niece, who has started pre-pre school at age two, is worrying some of her teachers on account of her alleged lack of sociabilty.  She keeps to herself and doesn’t immediately relax around large groups of kids.  They’re saying she may require some watching.  As my sister-in-law says, it’s as though they’ve already labeled her as a potential problem.

She’s two years old.  When I was two, I wasn’t around large groups of kids.  I’m pretty sure I spent all my time rotating around on one foot and then falling down.  Going to school is a big deal, and it’s going to take some time.

But the teachers aren’t the only ones worried by the thought that Cameron may become a quiet, introspective child.  One of her parents is a hotshot lawyer, and the other sells multi-million dollar homes. They ask themselves: We’re a couple of type-A personalities; how did we wind up with a type B+ child?

(Suspicious, sidelong glances at Uncle Greg, who is himself about as socially aggressive as a lamp post. Greg whistles innocently.)

The point is, everyone needs to chill out.  She’s two, and she has plenty of time to become a fierce go-getter.  But even if she doesn’t, why is this bad? Let’s face it: the vast majority of people do pretty much suck, and it’s good to recognize that at a young age.  Otherwise you’ll end up the victim of a lot of pyramid schemes.

In the cosmic scope of things, is it necessary to race around the playground, scaring away pigeons and stomping on babies?  Is it necessary to plunge into a group of kids and declare yourself their leader? Or is it good to grow up with a more thoughtful temperament, enjoying the textures and nuances of life without commiting yourself to the domination of the known world?

The only real advantage of being a more aggressive personality is the eventual material gains. But to me that’s not a compelling reason.  For example, let’s say you want to drive a sporty car.  You don’t have to drop $60K at the nearest dealer. There are cheaper ways of satisfying your need for speed:

In my view, it’s only important that you’re always able to make new friends:

And have a healthy sense of curiosity:

And retain the abiliity to smile and wave, even when perched up in the air with fierce animals roaming around beneath you:

If you can do all these things?  You’ll always have a leg up in life.

What do you do when you really, really want a part in a Wonder Woman movie?  Cobble together a costume, put on a truckload of makeup, put your friends in togas, and film your own movie trailer as an audition.

This unknown actress is so convinced that she could play Wonder Woman in the upcoming Joss Whedon movie that she did all of the above.  (Watch it here.)

And my reaction is so schizophrenic that it makes wishy washy people look decisive. On hand, I applaud her for not only following her dreams, but for creating them out of her own two hands. That’s a beautiful thing.  No one will ever fail in life who can tap into that kind of guts, resources, and determination.

But on the other hand, the makeup.  Oh lord, the makeup. They make the actresses look more like players in the inevitable skin flick that will be...uh, inspired by the theatrical release.  (And a line like “This mission will tax even the greatest amazon” wouldn’t be out of place in that production either.)

“Hello, did you order this pizza?”

“Why yes, I did!  I’m also an amazon from Paradise Island sent to protect man’s world.  Now hold still while I use my golden lasso.”

But again, back to the “following your dreams” thing.  Good job. And the ending is funny.  Joss Whedon himself wouldn’t wince at that bit.  Maybe he could give you a smaller part in the film?  Perhaps as Wonder Woman’s spunky kid sister?  There could be a cute scene where she teaches you all sorts of big sister stuff...like, y’know, how to apply makeup.

I’m not self absorbed.  I’m just apathetic to external events that don’t directly involve me.

I’ve been pretty even-tempered lately, meaning that some things annoy me and some things make me happy, so it all balances out.  For example, the Republican plan to send $100 rebate checks to everyone as a way of fighting high gas prices makes me angry.  Don’t get me wrong--I’m a cheap hooker, through and through. But my price for not caring about research into alternative energy sources is way higher than $100.

BILL FRIST: “Greg, here’s $100 to help with your gas bill.”

“Oh, Senator Frist, you are handsome and manly.  I shall make you very happy. But you still have to research alternative energy sources.”

JOHN MCCAIN: “Greg, here’s $500 to help with your gas bill.”

“Oh, Senator McCain, you are so tough with your military demeanor and fierce politics. I will pleasure you all night long.  But you still have to research alternative energy sources.”

DICK CHENEY: “Greg, here’s $2,000 to help with your gas bill.”

“Whoa!  Okay, you know, let’s forget about the whole alternative energy thing. Let’s go find some dead dinosaurs!”

KARL ROVE: “Greg, here’s $5,000 to help with your gas bill.”

“Oh Karl.  My dear, sweet Karl.  I want you to penetrate a place I’ve never asked anyone to penetrate before.  That’s right--I want you to go drill in the National Arctic Wildlife Refuge.”

Everyone has their price, and I definitely have mine.  But $100 is just insulting.  Now, am I angry all the time?  Of course not.  Watching Stephen Colbert say these things at the White House Press Dinner made me swell with patriotic pride.  What a great country we live in, where you can look a President in the eye and compare his poll numbers to backwash!  So like I said, I’m even tempered.

That’s why I was surprised when someone at work in authority said “BLAH BLAH SOMETHING OF IMPORTANCE AND AUTHORITY BLAH BLAH” and I said “BLAH BLAH CONTRADICT BLAH BLAH HERE’S WHAT I THINK BLAH BLAH,” and someone else said to me afterwards, “Wow, that took guts.” But did it?  I didn’t contradict the person out of anger or malice.  My job at work is to be William Riker.  The Captain steers the ship, and I quote rules and regulations--not to undermine authority, but simply to do my duty of laying out the potential consequences so the Captain is fully informed in his decision.

“We’re going to hide the ship in that nebula.  And also pitch an article about strategic partnerships to media contacts within our sales territories.”

“Captain, Federation regulations prohibit going near class C nebulas, because they may interfere with our dilithium crystals.  Also, no one cares about our strategic partnerships.”

”I know Federation regulations, mister.  Full speed ahead into the nebula and start pitching the media outlets.  But not you, Number One.  You go slink into the corner, grow a beard, and eat until you get fat.”

“Aye, Captain.”

But maybe I actually have been in a bad mood?  Because yesterday, Curtis of Knick Knack sent me an email with the message “I think your ‘targeted ads’ have the wrong opinion of me.” The message included a link to this screenshot.

As I’m sure Curtis knows, Google ads don’t read the mind of the users but take their content cues from the site itself.  I don’t remember writing about the female cycle--so maybe a subconscious bad mood is influencing its algorithms?

No wonder I keep cramping up after the gym.

Thoughts on karaoke: