Witty Irishmen

I had the incredible opportunity last night to hear Rory O'Driscoll of Scale Ventures speak about the venture capital industry. Phenomenal speaker. The man is effing brilliant -- he kept throwing out references to macroeconomic concepts in relation to his work and he always had a couple of answers to each question depending on how you looked at the issue.

A couple of gems stuck with me:

"Relying on people to do the right thing for other people is not a scaleable process."

"You don't need to cap your upside going in. Life will cap your upside for you."

"You know I'm not lying now because we're talking with money."

Brilliant Man.

Told You I'm Not the Only One

Even SF Weekly thinks SF is a tough city for women looking to date men.

This week they featured an article about a pick-up artist who tried to teach SF women how to pick up men in the city...and found it more difficult than he expected.

Read for yourself: Girl Game

Some favorite excerpts:

...being a single, straight woman in this city can be an exercise in frustration and humiliation. All around the city, successful single women complain about not being able to find quality partners.

Although there's no hard data to prove it, anecdotal evidence abounds.

One possible explanation is that in San Francisco, men who aren't gay, married, or damaged by a previous owner are decidedly cagey when it comes to dating and relationships. "Men are more timid here to ask women out," says Emily Morse, a local radio show host who regularly discusses sex and relationships. "They also seem to think dating just isn't cool."

------------

"I've never had as much trouble finding people to date as I have here," a woman wrote. It was the first response to an SF Weekly tweet calling for women fed up with the dating scene in San Francisco and willing to subject themselves to a pickup artist's workshop. "I moved to the city after a nasty breakup, expecting to casually date people," she continued. "I couldn't even get laid at first."

Plenty of other responses zoomed in, many including pointed complaints about male-female relations. "I've never seen so much dating down in my life," a woman wrote, referring to how many couples she knows that seem to include a smart, attractive woman and an average, barely tolerable guy.

------------

In San Francisco, though, women have to deal with a lot of ambiguity. "We don't even know what it is," Valencia said of some men she has encountered around the city. "Is it gay? Is it straight? Is it a friend Is it a foe? Is it looking for a job? Is it looking for a place to crash?"

Another contributing factor to the dating doldrums: "There's no pressure to grow up here," she says. "The way I act now is pretty much the same way I acted when I was 24. It's culturally reinforced here. Nobody cares that you're in your late 30s and have roommates."

------------

But as someone who has lived in New York City, she has noticed that in San Francisco, men are not very bold in approaching women.

"Here, there are all these group get-togethers," she says. "Men prefer to see women a few times before asking them out." And, as in any other city full of young, ambitious people, San Franciscans seem less interested in settling down than in exploring their options.

------------

Maybe it was because we were out on a Wednesday. Maybe we had chosen the wrong bar. But that particular scenario — having just a couple of attractive men to fight over, finding out they're gay, then hitting on them anyway — seemed a perfect representation of what it's like for a single woman in San Francisco.

------------ 

Valencia said her mother has a theory about men. "A good guy is like a good bra," she used to say. "He should uplift and make you look beautiful. He should fit really well. He should flatter you and never poke you in the wrong place or make you uncomfortable."

------------ 

Dating's hard! (said in an incredibly whiny voice, of course)

Bad Decisions

Saturday the waves were strong enough for Mavericks to finally be held, after a hiatus from less than stellar waves. The waves were record-breaking, and while the contestants avoided serious catastrophe, several spectators were injured.

So maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the best day to go swimming off the coast of Carmel. Just a thought.

Good Mothering

Overheard in SF:

"If he can't figure out the public transportation system, well ... I don't want you dating him."
(Mother to teenage girl, overheard at San Francisco General Hospital)

There's more where that came from on SFGate.com.

No Pretty Boys

You would think the news that most women prefer pretty boys would make my life easier.



Give me a strong jaw line and a bit of ruggedness any day.

Saturday Afternoon

She squints as the clouds blow by, letting the sun flash in through the cafe window.
"I just don't get why he hasn't called back. It's been two days. He never takes this long."

One of the other three women at the table hands her a pair of sunglasses.
"Honey, don't worry about it, he's probably out of town...somewhere with no reception."

"Or," another drawls as she examines her reflection in the window, "he's so wrapped up in some other girl he hasn't even checked his phone." She brushes off the death glares and napkin wads.

"Maybe he got into a terrible accident and he's in a hospital somewhere. He could be dying wishing I was by his side! Maybe I should call around?"

"Don't sound so hopeful."

"Well, it's better than another woman." She pushes out her bottom lip.

The fourth woman speaks up. "Maybe he's in jail."

"If only he was exciting enough for me to believe that one. It's probably something totally boring. I bet he dropped his phone in the toilet and fried his contacts."

"You really think he's the kind of guy who wouldn't have them backed up?"

"Oh, damn."

"Maybe a friend came into town unexpectedly and he just isn't thinking about it."

"Yeah, the woman he's wrapped up in." This time she dodges french fries.

The phone rings.

Living Life Without Regrets

I used to live my life without much regard for my safety. I did what I wanted when I wanted, and while I took reasonable precautions, in general I wasn't overly occupied with thoughts of danger.

Over the past few years, I built up a life for myself that could lead to a nice secure future. I got to a point of financial stability and job and career security, and I gave up risks that might jeopardize those. I was working toward a family, so I stopped thinking about the things I wanted to try before I got there.

In the past year, enough has happened to completely turn that back around for me. The recession, heartbreak, family struggles, health scares...so much has fallen together to remind me to look inward and determine what's important to me.

While what I really want is to travel, spending time in lots of crazy remote places where a saner person might not venture, I do still have some restraints. I'm in school, I've got a job, I've got the chance to invest now in a way that could lead me to a job that would allow me the ability to do the travel I want in the future. What these restraints don't do, however, is keep me from pursuing some of the adventures I can locally. Sailing, salsa dancing, climbing, caving, surfing, skydiving, scuba, intense yoga retreats...these are all things I can do here, and I've avoided because I felt like I was saving time and money for something that just isn't gonna happen now. I felt like I'd have time to do those things, but the truth is, I might not.

I was talking to my sister, an insurance agent, today about adding another life insurance policy so that I could feel a bit better about protecting my mom. She, of course, wanted to know why. So I told her. I'm scared to wait to do the things I'm scared to do. I want to do everything that scares me, and I want to do it now.

Some things that scare me are simple and silly. The other night I was walking with A to the gym and we passed the boxing gym with a sign that said "First Class Free". I was having a very difficult day and not feeling super confident, and A kinda reached toward my arm to pull me in and just walked to the front desk and asked how we get started. The guys (totally hot, btw!) were so amused by us, and specifically asked us to come back when one of them would be teaching. We're now set to start next week. I'm so excited about this little act. Yes, simple, silly - why would I be scared of a boxing class? Why am I intimidated by a bunch of guys and staring and judging and thinking I'm not good enough? Ridic, but still a real fear.

Other things that scare me are a little more serious. I want to walk by a cliff by the ocean and climb it because it's there - not because someone has a rope course already laid out. I want to boulder in the surf along the coast. I did a teensy bit of that down in Big Sur in December, but it was just enough to whet my appetite. I want to explore a cave nobody knows. I want to go where I want to go, regardless of locks or fences or signs. I want dive a shipwreck, jump out of a plane, sail down the coast...I want to do it all.

This is what I told my sister. I guess I expected her to argue with me because I found myself surprised when she told me that she not only supported my decision, but also encouraged me to do everything I can while I can. She reminded me that while our family lives long lives, you never know when some health scare or financial trauma will hit and make everything impossible. If I'm gonna do it, I need to do it now.

She ended the phone call by telling me something she's said to me many times over the years. There are many iterations of this quote, but my sister's simplified, drawled version is by far my favorite:

There's no reason to live my life so I come out pretty in the end. I wanna come out all used up and messy and screaming, "Wooo Hoooo, What a Ride!"

Thanks, Sissy.

You Know You're From Springfield When...

although I'm actually from a small town outside of Springfield, all of these made me smile with a bit of nostalgia this morning (especially after the crazy changing weather we've had here in SF the past couple days...I miss thunder!)

You know you're from Springfield, MO when...

you take out-of-town guests to Bass Pro Shops.

your high school had more pickup trucks than cars.

you still have to think every time someone says MSU.

you knew someone you went to school with/dated/taught/worked with Brad Pitt.

you've crashed other schools' proms.

you started watching "The Bachelor" second season.

you've bought live bait at a local gas station.

the concept of numbered streets is totally foreign to you.

you know which restaurant owner invented cashew chicken, and you debate where to get the best.

when someone mentions minorities, you think they're talking about underage drinking.

your whole town stood outside watching tornados rather than taking shelter.

road construction and lake levels lead the local news.

you go to the park at 3pm to enjoy a sunny day, and by 3:05 you're running for cover from the thunderstorms.

you can count all the escalators in town on one hand.

you mark significant events by which ice storm it was closest to.

you can throw a rock from any corner and hit either a church or a chinese restaurant.

you only know who Robert Franklin Stroud, John Gotti, Larry Flynt, and Manuel Noriega are because they were patients at the federal prison medical center, and you cheered when Johnny Sack died on The Sopranos because you knew the place.

you cruised Battlefield.

I am a Moron

I had a bit of an emotional break on Sunday night taking care of the ex's cat. In looking for a bowl to put down extra water, I opened cabinets to find MY dishes. Dishes I'd had since before I met the ex. I knew of course that I had given him these dishes...but to see my dishes in his apartment was a little jolt to me. I noticed on his counter that he had bottles of wine that we'd picked out together. Also, we raised a kitten together. And seeing his new cat in kitten stage...seeing him make choices he learned from our experience. It was all a little much.

That night I had a dream involving kangaroos - I'd been viewing someone's pics that evening - and I woke up thinking about the Australian wine we chose together. The really good (relative term for a region that specializes in Sancerre) bottle of  Shiraz we brought back from the Hunter Valley (from a beautiful winery called Iron something or other) has been waiting for me to have a moment like this. The wine represented a time when my future was planned much differently than it is today, and I wanted to toast to that memory and drink it away.

I pulled out the bottle with A, but we couldn't finish it. We acknowledged that it wasn't something we'd normally drink, but we tried to take it in context. This was a red wine from a region known for sweet whites. That's why it was really fruity and too sweet. But it meant something to me. And I knew I had liked this wine in Australia.

After a glass I turned to A and asked if she was sure it wasn't corked. She confirmed that it wasn't, and that this was just not a wine we would normally drink.

The symbolism inherent in a wine that I had loved and hoped for and waited for turning out disappointing was just too much for me to bear, and I couldn't have any more. But I also couldn't bring myself to pour it down the drain. This wine meant something. I was certain the taste I didn't like was based more on my emotion than on actual flavor qualities.

In a fit of not caring about providing alcohol to the homeless, I hoped to find someone on the way home who could use a little bit of a warming up (yep, judge me now). The two guys normally camped out on California weren't there. The woman on Hyde was nowhere to be found. I wanted someone to appreciate this wine.

It occurred to me that my neighbor might enjoy trying a wine that can't be purchased here, as he is just starting to really learn the ins and outs. So I take over the remainder of the bottle, but he makes it very clear that it is, in fact, shitty wine. I take another sip and finally admit to myself that it's awful. The altitude from the flight must have killed the flavor. I was upset, but there was also something slightly liberating about pouring it down the drain.

So this morning I get a text with a pic attached, asking me why my Australian wine has a California label. I look at the picture, scour my wine racks, and let my mistake sink in.

This is the wine I had last night. You can buy it for $7 in discount stores. Don't buy it. It's crap.

And this is the wine (unopened) I brought over from Australia. You can't buy it here, but if you bought it there it would be currently be about $25.

I got emotional over a crap Lodi wine (also from a fantastic trip, though!) while my Hunter Valley shiraz sat safely in my apartment.

On the upside, I think I've embarrassed myself enough lately that I no longer have any shame.

From the Mouths of SF Men

Continuing the conversation about nice guys and/or SF passive guys...

I was recently out with a friend who moved here last year from the East Coast and his roommate, who was born and bred in the Bay Area. My friend is the epitome of what I think it means to be a man. (Well, almost...Marlboro Man of Pioneer Woman is the true epitome, but I'm so never gonna meet that type out here.) He pays - even for friends when he can. He makes decisions, he open doors, he carries heavy things, he takes risks, he displays confidence, he walks girls home or hails their cab...as I'd say it back home, his mama done him good. So, knowing my friend's answer already, I asked the roommate if he always paid on the first date. Without hesitation he said no. We delved a little further and he emphasized that he behaves out of a belief in equality, not out of being a cheapskate. He said that he does usually offer to pay, but that the girls frequently argue with him and he's not going to let that go on all night. It seems like maybe the women are the cause of confusion rather than the guys not manning up. Unfortunately, I'm starting to think neither the men nor the women of SF were properly taught the rules (or they let go of their training in the confusion of SF liberalness). To do my part for my humanity, I decided to clarify the rules of paying for dates, as learned in southern Missouri and followed thus far by every man I've ever dated except SF boys.

First Date:

Bill comes, I take out my card in an offer to pay for my half.
He argues and says he has it.
I say thank you and put my card away.

If he actually lets me pay my half, there will be no second date.
I don't care how poor/broke you are. I don't need much. But if I'm not worth you making that gesture the first time we meet, it's not a date, and you therefore won't be getting a second one.

Second Date:

Now, this one is slightly more tricky.
If the first date was fairly expensive, I'm likely to ask if I can take him out this time and insist that I pay, but it will be for a less expensive thing than he did. I will also let him pitch in for drinks or pay half the bill for the date if he insists (and this would earn points and increase likelihood of 3rd date).

If the first date was normal, I'll again offer to pay my half, but I won't be offended if he accepts my offer.
I would expect him to then do something extra, though, like pay for a cab or purchase an after dinner drink. It wouldn't be points against him if he didn't, but it sets it up for a weird dynamic in which we're already discussing who pays for what a little soon in the dating scheme.

If he pays for the second date in full, I will be sure to pay for after dinner drinks or a cab or something small. I will also insist that I get to treat him next time, but again, he'll earn bonus points if on that next time he picks up some small thing like a drink or cab.

And so it goes until it evens out with him paying about 3:2 or so.

I like this plan. I have no problem feeling like he is taking care of me financially in regard to those dates, because it will even out. I'll keep my fridge stocked with his favorite beer or keep his whiskey at my bar. I'll buy the groceries when I make him dinner. I'll spend money on pretty underwear for his benefit. It just works.

The problem with the SF man not paying for the dates in the same way means the other stuff no longer evens out. So I spend money on make-up and hair and cute shoes and facials and yoga classes and sexy underwear - all so he gets what he wants. And now I ALSO have to share the burden of half the dates? As if men spend nearly as much as we do on these things. And honestly, if I trust him to pick up the alcohol, it's gonna be all beer all the time, and sometimes I need to go pick out that fancy bottle of wine. Am I supposed to ask him to repay me for half? Or groceries - I will always go for the local organic cut of beef, so if I expect that I have to buy it...which means I'm paying for it then, too.

These men who are trying to be more equal are forgetting about the natural dynamic that has worked for decades.
YES, I make money. I may even make as much as you. But women still don't make as much as men, even in the exact same positions at the same company. And men sure as hell don't shell out $150 to keep their skin clear and soft, their hair shiny and touchable, their hairy regions waxed, and everything else perfect just for us.

Boys, if you want to date a girl who doesn't wear make-up, shows up in the same clothes you wear, never wears sexy lingerie, has hairy legs and armpits, has wrinkles and/or major zits, and smells like discount soap - fine. Then you can let her pay. And yeah, you may think that beautiful chick across the bar is just that girl, but that's only because you don't know what goes into creating that "natural" look. You know how long we fuss just to make sure that one tousled lock of hair falls just so? And yes, we do it for us. But we also do it for you. So when you go around deciding to treat us equally by choosing not to pay for that first date, you throw off the balance. All of a sudden we're paying equally, but we're putting far more effort into our appearance. Then we start to think maybe we're better than you. Then we start looking for the guy who will pay. OR, we stop giving a shit, stop shaving, and start wearing ratty old grandma undies with holes and frayed waistbands. Up to you boys, make your choice.

ANYWAY, this all came up again because I was reading Why There Are No Girls in SF and Sam posted a guy's perspective of the city's unaggressive men. Sam points out that men are unaggressive here, in this case in approaching women, because the women are too damn scary.

SF women seem to have this hybrid sensibility of hill-billy southern gallantry, where prescribed gender roles dictate who should aggressively pursue whom, and a regionally specific 70s-style extremist feminism, where there is hyper sensitivity to being hit on. According to San Francisco magazine, “Bay Area women have been known to react to innocent flirting as if they'd been groped ...

That’s the paradox. SF women get sort of annoyed when guys attempt to seduce them. Not bemused or bored, annoyed. The fact that the average SF guy has the charm of a yard rake doesn't matter. SF women want men to make advances on them but without them knowing that the advance is being made, which requires not just Code speak but pretending to be gay.

This creates what anthropologists call a double bind dilemma. A successful response to one message implicates a failed response to the other, so that the person will be automatically wrong regardless of response. It's pretty much the kind of thing that broke the Union in 1861 and makes the Middle East a total mess. So if you’re a guy in San Francisco and there's a pretty girl sitting next to you, what’s the right move? You keep quiet, keep your head down and hope no one starts yelling.

And you know what? I think maybe he's right. We are an independent sort here in SF, and it is frequently the case when we are out that we don't want to be bothered. Sometimes a guy interupting girl time is intrusive, and perhaps SF girls are a little more vocal about that. Maybe that leads to exactly what Sam posits about men just keeping their heads down and waiting for the girls to come to them.

Now, I was taught that if you aren't interested you always say thank you with a big smile and simply decline the opportunity for an introduction or a free drink. This encourages men to keep trying with other woman. Having seen other women out here react harshly to come-ons, I have to wonder if this isn't all our fault. Have too many of us women rejected vocally and meanly to the point where all the SF balls are now shriveled and tucked up inside never to be seen again? Honestly? It almost makes me feel more sorry for the guys here than disgusted with them. Good thing I'm way past my pity sex days.

Ladies, we need to understand our job. The men need to understand theirs.

We get pretty, we smell nice, we buy nice underwear and bat our eyelashes. Men pay (at least at first and usually slightly more overall), open doors, carry heavy things. Not because we can't do those things, but because they want to do them for us.

We can be equals, we can share power, but come on...there's a nice balance to how things work (one I find particularly sexy), and we're seeing the evidence of f*cking with that as plain as day.

Pioneer Woman's Love Story

I'm still not a hundred percent sure how I came across her website, but Ree, better known as Pioneer Woman, has a collection of blog posts that are stealing all of my time.

Ree was a midwestern girl who moved to LA for college and loved it. She stayed a few years after, knowing that she needed the big city, and happy in a long relationship.

As that relationship progressed, though, Ree realized that she needed some time alone to figure things out. She didn't know exactly what she wanted to do or where she wanted to be, so she went home.

Then she met the cowboy.

Seriously, this woman lived my effing fantasy. Except for the whole, move away from the ocean AND the city thing. Not sure I could handle that one.

Her writing is worthy of any romance section, but ladies beware - you'll be pulled in faster than you think.

On this one, though, I'm gonna say it's worth it.

Read Ree's Story.
(read from the bottom up)

Weirdly, I prefer reading it in those installments. Once you get far enough in, however, you'll find Ree's link to the entire story all in one place. Try that if it makes you happier.

Giving In

"When did you know?"
The girl looked up from the sofa through her tears, searching for answers only time could offer.

The reply came with a sweet smile of sadness and amusement.
"Oh, honey," her voice cracked with sorrow and gentle laughter,
"It just smacked me upside the head."
She lowered herself into the cushions and pulled her daughter to her chest.
"When your daddy walked through that door, I think I just gave in. Some long fought battle just stopped raging and opened me up to somethin' more."

The girl sighed the deep sigh of young love,
"I want that."

She kissed the top of those dark blonde curls and smiled into the space around them.
"I know, baby girl.
I know."

Annoyances

I have a pet peeve that is beginning to turn into irrational anger.

When I go through a checkout, I want to get through as quickly as possible. I'm ready with my cards, have my bag open, and I put groceries in as they're scanned...all very efficient. I open my wallet to put my cash in and I'm ready to close it up and go every time.

But then...

Then the cash comes out, and instead of handing it to me, the clerk waits until the receipt prints, puts the receipt with the cash, and then hands me the mismatched bundle. The receipts are too big to go in my wallet, so I now have to separate the receipt before putting my cash in my wallet. The clerk COULD have given me my cash, let me put my wallet away while the receipt was printing, and then handed it to me and I'd be out of the next person's way. But no, they have to make it take longer b/c now I have to separate the receipt so I can put my money away and then walk away. It makes the whole process take 5 or 10 more seconds, which between thousands of customers each day, adds up to quite a bit. This is NOT efficient.

Seriously. Walgreens does this every single time. Every time. ARGH. Cala does it, too. I actually sometimes have to calm myself down before it happens so I don't get upset.

Ridiculous, I know. But true. God help me.

Whuh whuh whuh whuh whuh

I have a new favorite song. It's featured in this video made by someone whose job I need to have.



Favorite lyrics?
"Teach me tiger
how to tease you
whuh whuh whuh whuuhh whuh"

Thank you, Cute Overload. I am thrilled to have this song in my head.
oh yeah.

Book Report: How the World Makes Love

Very good, fast-paced piece of travel/relationship writing. I highly recommend it.

Some favorite parts:

A married Nicaraguan woman explains success

Physical appearance is irrelevant, though it is important to be good in bed.

The author has a realization

Love is the only belief on which the world agrees. Meters or feet, coffee or tea, Buddha or Allah, futbol or football, cars on the left or right--our planet cannot come to a consensus on anything. Except love.

The world believes deeply in love. Deeply. Ardently. With a shy smile and an instant nod, people around the globe say it exists in all of us. It can thrive. Sure, they have a hard time describing it, let alone capturing it, but it's there. They know it. From closed societies or Western worlds, in bodies wrinkled or smooth, with preferences for the apposite sex or the same, with pockets well stocked or barren, the world sings the same love song. The practices vary, but the passions remain identical.

A young Nicaraguan woman talking about love

Nica men think love is an empty space you need to fill. For me, love is if I am happy and you are happy, we can share. But if you are not happy, you can share nothing.

When I had sex with the fireman, it was not love. Just I needed a hug. But love doesn't leave in the morning.

Go read it for yourself: How the World Makes Love, Franz Wisner

Receiving

In this holiday time of thinking about giving, I want to focus on receiving.

Well, it's not so much that I want to, but that the world seems to be telling me that I should. It started a month or so back and sped up a couple of weeks ago with a series of events that have just kept going.

1. I had been looking for a table to fit into my teensy apartment for awhile, but I didn't want to pay more than necessary. A friend just happened to be getting rid of a table that matched perfectly, and now I have a gorgeous table and 2 beautiful chairs that actually work in my place!

2. My sister sent me an incredibly beautiful gift of fall leaves from home just to make me smile.

And then, all in one night:
3. I went out to dinner with a friend. We both were thinking about ordering the goat cheese fondue app, but were refraining. Our server comes to take our order and lets us know that we'll be receiving a free fondue because of the wait (we hadn't really waited that long, we hadn't complained, and we definitely hadn't mentioned the app).

4. We get to our movie, and someone has left an extra ticket at the window. The ticket lady decides I should have it. :)

5. At a bar later that night, a man steps on my foot. I jokingly say "ow" loudly, and he offers to buy me a drink. Despite my protests and his obvious lack of attraction to women, he buys me an uber expensive whiskey martini.

The next morning:
6. I wake up starving but not wanting to leave the house just yet. I was surprised by a yummy mission burrito in my fridge. Best feeling ever when you've forgotten that you brought home food the night before.

7. Found a $20 on the sidewalk.

8. I'm trying to name a business, and just as I was getting really frustrated, one of my classes had a naming expert as a guest speaker. The professor actually arranged for me to spend some time talking with him during class. Incredible.

So now, I'm just trying be open to receiving the things the world wants to throw my way. I think maybe that's something we don't do very often - especially those of us who tend to be giving and/or tend to take action to get what we want. I just don't want to miss out on something because I was so focused on working to get something else.

Bad Sex in Fiction Awards

oh. my.

The Literary Review's Bad Sex in Fiction Awards are out, and they are certainly worth reading.

This year's winner is Jonathan Littell, for The Kindly Ones.

The winning passage:

Her vulva was opposite my face. The small lips protruded slightly from the pale, domed flesh. This sex was watching at me, spying on me, like a Gorgon's head, like a motionless Cyclops whose single eye never blinks. Little by little this silent gaze penetrated me to the marrow. My breath sped up and I stretched out my hand to hide it: I no longer saw it, but it still saw me and stripped me bare (whereas I was already naked). If only I could still get hard, I thought, I could use my prick like a stake hardened in the fire, and blind this Polyphemus who made me Nobody. But my cock remained inert, I seemed turned to stone. I stretched out my arm and buried my middle finger into this boundless eye. The hips moved slightly, but that was all. Far from piercing it, I had on the contrary opened it wide, freeing the gaze of the eye still hiding behind it. Then I had an idea: I took out my finger and, dragging myself forward on my forearms, I pushed my forehead against this vulva, pressing my scar against the hole. Now I was the one looking inside, searching the depths of this body with my radiant third eye, as her own single eye irradiated me and we blinded each other mutually: without moving, I came in an immense splash of white light, as she cried out: 'What are you doing, what are you doing?' and I laughed out loud, sperm still gushing in huge spurts from my penis, jubilant, I bit deep into her vulva to swallow it whole, and my eyes finally opened, cleared, and saw everything.

2005's Winner was pretty good, too. Winkler by Giles Coren:

And he came hard in her mouth and his dick jumped around and rattled on her teeth and he blacked out and she took his dick out of her mouth and lifted herself from his face and whipped the pillow away and he gasped and glugged at the air, and he came again so hard that his dick wrenched out of her hand and a shot of it hit him straight in the eye and stung like nothing he'd ever had in there, and he yelled with the pain, but the yell could have been anything, and as she grabbed at his dick, which was leaping around like a shower dropped in an empty bath, she scratched his back deeply with the nails of both hands and he shot three more times, in thick stripes on her chest. Like Zorro.

And a Runner Up from this year, A Dead Hand by Paul Theroux:

'Baby.' She took my head in both hands and guided it downward, between her fragrant thighs. 'Yoni puja - pray, pray at my portal.'
She was holding my head, murmuring 'Pray,' and I did so, beseeching her with my mouth and tongue, my licking a primitive form of language in a simple prayer. It had always worked before, a language she had taught me herself, the warm muffled tongue.

I don't know that I could write anything quite that amusing with any area of seriousness. 

Soundtrack of My Soul #6

Yellow Brick Road - Kris Delmhorst

I'm off to see the wizard in his castle on the hill
And I never once have known him and I do not know him still
Because his face it is magnificent but you'll never see his hands
And the way he throws his voice around I don't know where he stands

I'm off to see the wizard with his curtain and his crowd
But my hands are not trembling and my head it is not bowed
Cause I'm not looking for any answers, no truths to be revealed
All that I am asking is to show me something real

I'm not on no yellow brick road,
got a mind and a heart and guts of my own
I'm not looking for a one to set me free
I'm not on no yellow brick road, I'll find my own way home
I'm just looking for someone to walk with me

Hey you behind the curtain tell me what is it you see:
From where you sit does it appear that everyone is on their knees?
Their eyes are wide and hopeful and the line grows at the door
Do you sit up there and wonder how you'll ever give them more?

Well I'm not on no yellow brick road,
got a mind and a heart and guts of my own
I'm not looking for a one to set me free
I'm not on no yellow brick road, I'll find my own way home
I'm just looking for someone

Don't say that it's not lonely up above the crowd
Don't tell me you don't find yourself longing for the ground
And when I asked him one more time won't you tear the curtain down,
He said don't you know there's nothing here but me,
And I said baby who'd you think I came to see?

I'm not on no yellow brick road,
got a mind and a heart and guts of my own
I'm not looking for a one to set me free
I'm not on no yellow brick road, I'll find my own way home
I'm just looking for someone to walk with me

Feeding my Crush on Peter DeWolf

Seriously, the man is amazing. I wonder if his real conversations are ever this cool.

an excerpt:
“I adore a woman who’ll straight up order a burger.”
“You’d love me if I was eating tofu.”
“Busting out ‘love’ already?”
Her eyes got big. For a half second, she thought she had ruined it. Then she saw his face.
“Please. How could you not love me?,” she asked, as rhetorically as anything had ever been asked.
“You make a good point.”
“I always do.”
Their feet accidentally bumped together under the table. Neck hair stood up on end on both sides of the booth.
They left their feet touching.
He smiled at her. Warm. Honest.
“Baby…?” he slightlyabovewhispered.
“Yeah?”
“Tofu would be pushing it.”
“Shut up.”
He smiled at her. Warm. Smitten.

Peter, can you just write the rest of my first dates for me? Pretty please?

Who Controls the Definition of a Word?

Erin McKean is changing the way dictionaries are created. Which means that Erin McKean is changing the way proper word usage is defined.

In my business model innovations class, we frequently have guest speakers to tell us about their entry into a market. We were fortunate enough last week to have Erin McKean of Wordnik. Erin is one of approximately 145 lexicographers in the country, and she knew that she wanted to work with dictionaries from the time she was 8 years old. To watch her present her new company, Wordnik, is to watch a woman in love with what she does. I highly recommend watching her speak if you ever get a chance.

After Erin spoke at TED, venture funders approached her, wondering how possible it would be to capture all of the words that were used in the English language, rather than simply the small set included in print dictionaries. Regardless of your interest in language or dictionaries, the story is pretty damn fascinating. Print dictionaries capture less than a million words, and it takes years for a word to make it into the collection. Wordnik uses a technology to mine a large corpus of historical text and contemporary writing (including the internet). The algorithm pulls information about words and how they are used, offering immediate context, definitions, and references to "words" that aren't included in the print dictionaries. To date, Wordnik has counted about 4 million words, and about 10 million things that are used like words, far surpassing the capacity of print dictionaries - and it does so automatically and immediately.

An interesting question that arises from Wordnik is the question of who actually defines a word. In Erin's dream world, gone are the days of 4th grade English teachers correcting your usage of who and whom. Erin believes that the users of a language define the language, and she bucks the idea the only real definition is the one in the OED. It's an interesting question, really. Is the correct usage of a word the one defined for us and listed in the print dictionaries? OR is the correct usage really just defined by how the population uses it? Take a look at Erin's talks, browse the site, and decide for yourself.

Erin McKean at TED

Erin McKean at Google

Erin McKean article about using words

Wordnik