Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Friday, October 31, 2014
I just had a young woman in my taxi who received some dire news about a family member during the ride to the airport. She suddenly burst into tears and great, wracking sobs of emotional distress.
There are very few things that will put a man on high alert quicker than that. It's a hard-wired biological response; the CNS floods with adrenaline, vision and hearing get sharper, and the primitive lizard brain commands that the threat be found and killed. But, with nothing to fight, it turned a routine 30 minute drive into an ordeal of white knuckles and grinding teeth.
I don't put much stock in biological determinism, since we humans possess the ability to override most of our biological impulses, but it is very foolish to underestimate or disregard the profound and constant effect that biology has on our physiological, cognitive, and emotional processes.
I dropped her off about half an hour ago and I am just now starting to calm down. My nerves are shot, I'm exhausted, and I just want to eat and go to sleep.
Monday, September 22, 2014
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Sunday, September 7, 2014
But, I have always been a fan of Yes anyway and I loved Vangelis' soundtrack for the original Carl Sagan Cosmos. I remember picking up a cassette of The Best of Jon and Vangelis when I was in high school in the 1980s and had it in steady rotation for years until my cassettes were rendered obsolete by CDs. I've just had a few of the songs from that album on my mind over the past several days.
Anyway...I looked up their song State of Independence a little while ago on YouTube:
In the sidebar is a live version of a cover that Donna Summer did a year after the original was released. Again, a head-scratcher for most of the people that know me, but I really like her version, too.
I suspect that this is one of those songs that is really hard to screw up without special effort.
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Apparently, reading comprehension isn't a strong suit of feminist bloggers.
Friday, September 5, 2014
|Well, sort of...|
The juxtaposition of a white stoner buffoon with a Thug Lifer is meant to create a false equivalency and insinuate that it is racist to recognize an urban street thug when you see one.
|"I'm not even that fucking high."|
I'd be interested to know, based only on the photos, which one the creator of this meme would rather meet in a dark alley.
The photos in this meme were composed to portray two entirely different things. Putting them together and suggesting that we are somehow racist for recognizing that a gun-wielding urban thug and a harmless white stoner are vastly different people and therefore merit different treatment earns this meme a post on FULL RETARD FRIDAY.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Pictured above is Zoe Quinn, the woman who single-handedly wrecked video game journalism with her vagina when her uberchump now-ex-boyfriend discovered that she had been cheating on him with pretty much everybody and then told the entire world. If you are not familiar with this still very live train wreck, check out #GamerGate on Twitter or InternetAristocrat's Quinnspiracy Theory series on YouTube.
What I don't get is this: before the red pill I had several long "dry spells." Several years at one point. But even at my most wretched, most desperate, most abysmally lonely, I still would never have fucked Zoe Quinn.
Yet guys in the gaming industry were, apparently, lining up to bump uglies with this puffalump. This fact is as scathing an indictment of the industry as the utter lack of any moral, ethical, or professional standards. I mean, shit - if you're gonna leverage whatever little bit of influence you have for a piece of ass, you might as well shoot the moon.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
I witnessed what I consider to be the male version of this phenomenon the other day at work. I was dispatched to an off campus apartment complex around 7 a.m. or so the other day. I arrived at the address and called the customer to let him know I was there. Shortly thereafter, two people came down. One was a girl, early twenties, short, pudgy but not yet obese, with a bit of acne. She was a solid 4 as is, but could probably make 6 after a year or so of proper diet and swinging a kettlebell. She was accompanied by a good looking guy the same age, but he was clearly punching down with this girl.
Anyway, I observed the body language between them as the approached my taxi. They barely spoke. There was no touching. She looked tired but alert, but he was obviously red-eyed and hung over. He slipped some cash into her hand as I opened the sliding door and, as she got into the van, the guy made bleary eye contact with me before slouching back into the building without saying a word. That furtive glance told me that he was not proud of himself.
This was clearly the morning after a drunken sexual peccadillo. My guess is that they were both at a campus bar or house party and she took advantage of a guy who was too drunk and horny to defer to his better judgement.
It occurred to me that, if feminists are really interested in equality like they claim, and if alcohol really does make it impossible to consent to sex, this girl is probably a rapist and he was her victim. Of course, the first two assertions are ridiculous and this guy was not raped. This was simply a typical one-night-stand that they both clearly regret (if one more than the other) and will likely forget about after a few months. If the tables were turned, however, that guy could have found himself in a world of shit based upon nothing more than her accusation.
Saturday, August 30, 2014
Why does the bizarre feminist outrage over this innovative new roofie-detecting nail polish remind me of the Wizard of Oz freaking out when Toto pulled back the curtain?
What if this product accidentally shows date rape via rohypnol to actually be quite rare or entirely mythical?
What if the outrage over this turns out to be the Wizard screaming "Pay no attention to those drunken sluts behind the victim narrative!"