I am taking a personal day away from blogger because of the unexpected death of my baby bunny.

My letter to Cynthia.

Dear Cynthia,

I understand that American Apparel is an outcry against sweatshops and cheap labor. Even though this is a controversial subject in regards to globalization, I commend you on your company's good intentions. However, what really disappoints me as a consumer is your ads that appear in newspapers. I am specifically speaking of the ad in the June 28th edition of Metro, Boston's commuter newspaper. This ad was extremely large and eye-catching since it was on the back cover of the paper. While I sympathize with your need to sell your products, I don't agree with the way you are advertising it. The size and noticeability of the ad would not be offensive if it weren't for the fact that it was a huge picture of a girl in nothing but underwear.

A similar ad had been placed in a college newpaper with a girl looking provocatively at her audience. That's more reasonable because it was thrown in along with various "adult ads." The Metro has a different audience altogether. Most people who read it are commuters, middle-aged professionals who take the train from their suburban homes to their offices in the city. Do these people with kids and husbands or wives need to see this? Of course, everyone knows that sex sells, but why would you plaster half-naked women over a newspaper cover? It seems to me to be quite indecent. In our culture which subjects anyone who takes in media to oversexualization, you are only worsening the condition. By cheapening sex, you are cheapening an act of love and the individual as well.

The fact of the matter is, you don't need to resort to these sexual images to sell your products. I have seen your other ads online, and their nature is completely unnecessary. Your products speak for themselves. They are good, quality products that consumers would love to buy. I'm sure you have very good business, but consider how removing your explicit images would benefit you. There is a whole market out there that does not completely consist of "horny" young people. Perhaps if you accentuated what you stand for rather than tainting your good ethics with blatant sexual images, you will become a huge seller to families as well as the youth.

After all, not all young people in America want you to sell sex; I am one of those who would rather buy your product for what it is rather than what it suggests.

More on how American Apparel is a big, giant ass.

And... AA uses porn star.

Fine line between genius and serial killer.

How much does this man look like Jack Nicholson? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think a lot. Well, looks aren't the only thing they have in common. While Jack has played many a psycho, murderer, and psychotic murderer, Dennis Rader is all of those things. Yes, that Dennis Rader, the one who killed ten people in Wichita.

While many people may be horrified by the story (how he had sexual fantasies while stalking victims and all), I have to say, I was a little intrigued. It was like a subplot out of a Thomas Harris novel (Silence of the Lambs, Red Dragon, Hannibal). And with all the media brainwashing I had been subjected to, I just had to check this out. So I clicked on the BTK slideshow timeline photo gallery thing-a-ma-bob. Okay, pictures of mediocre-looking people, some newspaper clippings, and BAM! I found this:



Now, is that crazy or what? I think there must be more to this poem, but it's certainly impressive as it is. That's some freaking art right there: the poem of a serial killer to his victim. He was waiting for her inside her apartment, but she never came home. Then he sent her this. That's just ridiculously, creepily romantic.

I hope this guy gets put away for life. He's obviously not resisting it. He knows what he deserves. I sure he'd even be fine with the death sentence. But... you have to ask yourself especially in our current culture of romanticizing violence, where do we draw the line between art and psycho-sickness? This man, the anti-hero, if he were in a novel, would we celebrate his character as that of mystery, bloodlust, and torture? Will we celebrate it years from now when he becomes little more than a myth?

Reality's pretty fucked up, but glazing it over with fiction and fantasy makes it quite eerily magical.

Heed the Wise Zoidberg

I own volume four of Futurama thanks to a certain boy who probably has no concept of what a romantic gift would be. Well, it's still a good gift, and I'm glad I got it because something in the news last night reminded me of it.

I think we all heard that flag-burning has been outlawed in these United States. Honestly, I didn't give it much thought till last night when a news report said that several men were arrested for burning and ruining flags in a public area. Suddenly, it struck me how ridiculous it is that you can't burn a flag. (Those guys were probably arrested on account of the fact that it was public property also.) But what does that have to do with Futurama?

With the oncoming July 4th weekend, we should probably all give a little thought to what Freedom means. This question is the exact one addressed in episode 5.4 of Futurama, called A Taste of Freedom. This episode portrays Earth (the new America) and it's holiday Freedom Day (the new Independence Day). In a frenzy of excitement and celebration, our friendly alien, Dr. John Zoidberg, uncontrollably gobbles up a flag in front of a crowd (including president and etc.) at Washington D.C. Zoidberg is promptly sentenced to death.

In his defense, Old Man Waterfall (defense lawyer) makes a profound speech: No, you don't [He takes it off.] 'Cause I lost my real hand plantin' the flag when we took back Halley's Comet! Yet it was worth it. So much do I love that flag. [The court sobs.] I love it even more than I love my seven wives. That's right, I'm a polygamist. [The court boos.] Yet I would gladly eat a flag myself, had I not used my intestine as a rope to hoist a flag made of my own skin. If it would protect the freedom of the proud people who salute that flag! [The court cheers.] Freedom such as polygamy. [The court boos.] I rest my case. [He puts his hand back on. His leg falls off.] Oh, jeez!

What ensues is a world of pain when Decapod 10 (Zoidy's planet) takes over Earth and enslaves all the people. Zoidberg: Deny my freedom will you? Well we'll do to you what we did the the Squash Men of the Squash Planet! Squish them!

At the end, Zoidberg saves Earth by lighting a flag on fire to distract heat-seeking missiles. Zoidberg: Wait, people of Earth listen. Yes I'm desecrating a flag - to preserve the freedom it represents! Finally, Nixon grants him the right to eat the flag whenever he wants.

Now, come on, wasn't that a great lesson that TV taught us? The freedom that the American flag represents, which we are trying to preserve by passing this law, is the exact freedom that is at jeopardy when this law was passed. I admit burning the flag is disrespectful and perhaps in poor taste, but the symbol of it is beautiful because it shows that America truly is a land governed by its people with the freedom of expression. Sure, tons of people died for this country, but they didn't die for a piece of fabric; they died to uphold all the principles that this country stand for. Mostly, freedom.

What is this nation without the sacred right to flag-burn? A step closer to communist China? So the next time you see a flag flying high and proud, hope that one day we will once again be able to see it in flames.

(Sidenote: Freedom of expression in China, at least in the form of ridiculing the government, has significantly improved since the early 90's. General mockery is acceptable. By acceptable, I mean you won't get arrested for having a restaurant show based on the premise.)

Mimi.

This is my kitty in a sink.


I am testing that new image upload thing that Blogger is touting.

Anti-Cruisian comments.

I don't even know how to approach this. Is a giant asteroid about to destroy the earth? When did everything become so bizarre? While the Supreme Court decision is ripping through the other blogs, I think we should take a little time out and realize that Tom Cruise has gone insane.

I was casually flipping through the channels this morning when I paused on NBC. There Tom Cruise was, looking all disheveled with bags under his eyes, and yelling in a crazed fashion at Matt Lauer. Apparently, this little interview went horribly awry when Lauer asked Cruise about the whole Scientology/antidepressants/Brooke Shields thing. Cruise flipped out and started acting like he was a big giant expert on psychiatry. Plus the fact, he looked like he was seriously high on something. Maybe those "vitamins" he's so keen on talking about.

Yes... Tom Cruise is a studied expert on psychiatry... And I was voted Strawberry Princess on Buttercream Island.

Personally, I think some psychological drugs would do Cruise some good. If the "discussion" had gotten any further, he probably would have lunged at Lauer, causing the stage crew to shoot tranquilizers to heavily sedate the raging lunatic.

Don't do Scientology, kids. You don't want to end up like Tom Cruise.

Chuck Norris should lend me a gun.

Last night I had this horrible shooting pain behind my left ear (which I still have today). I always get this before a cold because viruses tend to infect my nervous system first and then the usual symptoms. Instead of going out, I decided to sit on the couch and see if anything worth watching was on TV. Luckily, it was King of Queens/Yes, Dear Wednesday (tonight is King of the Hill Thursday on FX). Who doesn't like Yes, Dear. They had Chuck Norris Walker Texas Ranger on it. And when is Chuck Norris not funny?

Now, that episode of Yes, Dear (with Jimmy going to his high school reunion to relive his days as 'coolest guy') got me thinking. I think I will hate my high school reunion. In fact, I don't think I'll go. I ask my boyfriend, who was sitting next to me, if he'd go. Of course he'd go! Everyone loved him in high school! He was the proverbial harmless, nice guy who did stupid stuff to make people laugh. Voted class clown. The yearbook picture... Well, that's another story for another time. I hate him.

Meanwhile, I seriously considered high school to be unnecessary drama. Looking back, who the hell cares who said what about who and all that crap. I mean, some people were really bad at getting caught up in all the diplomacy of appearing to be nice, but really being a bitch behind everyone's back. I have to admit, at the beginning of my high school career, I was a dumbass.

Towards the end, I kind of became outspoken, sarcastic, and (eh-hem) not very unconfrontational. While most people were busy pretending to like each other, I was pretty open with my hatred. Plus, I only knew the smart kids since I was only in the smart-kid classes, which meant most of them were snooty, insecure, nerdy, or Asian. My post on 'mean boys' was dedicated to the many "unpopular" boys of my classes. Really, they were quite stupid.

If I were to go to my reunion, I'm afraid I'd open fire on the bunch. At senior prom, I got up on a table and started cursing at the whole damn room because my camera went "missing." (The bastard got scared and left it under a table. What a moron. Totally could have gotten away with it.) It wouldn't matter what I would have accomplished. I could win the freaking Nobel Prize and no one would care that much. After all, we're all supposed to be high achievers due to our wits or connections to the upper-class (mostly connections since bunches of the little white kids were cheaters).

I don't think I'll even mention the lewd boys and the things they said. At least they were ridiculously gullible to the point of amusement.

High school is a sty. You are forced to make contact with all the people you hate, and there's nothing you can do about it.

In that sense, college is a little better because you don't have be around idiots. You can just shut yourself up in your room forever.

I must want to be a doctor because...

I'm so excited about this article!

Do you understand the ramifications of such a discovery?

The big bell is being rung! Is this the cure for cancer that we have been searching for?

Somehow, I find it doubtful that it can be this good and this effective. But the fact that this discovery exists gives me so much hope.

And to think, it all happened at Penn State. Stupid Penn State. The whole time I was there I thought it was so worthless. They're greatest previous discovery was how to freeze ice cream with alcohol and sound. That got them a deal with Ben & Jerry's. It's all so clear now... That's the reason why the stores there only sell Ben & Jerry's.

It wasn't Harvard. It wasn't MIT. It was Penn State. The irony. While I was lamenting over turning down MIT... Penn State was curing cancer.

In Penn State's article, they said:

Though previous [studies] have investigated the cancer-targeting potential of AAV2, none allowed the AAV2 to remain in culture long enough to see the effect that Meyers and his team observed.

Hmmm. I can just see it now. Some lazy Penn State student left it in the dish too long and ingenuously came up with the finding. Typical, no?

A cat, obstetrics, and the Japanese.

I think I'm going to shoot myself.

Apparently, there are exactly zero certified MD obstetricians in the Greater Boston Area that can speak Japanese. If you are an obstetrician in the Greater Boston Area and you can speak Japanese, then please hide, because if I ever find out about you, I'm going to grab you and shake you while I scream, "WHY? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU EXISTED?"

I have spent the last two days looking for this non-existent doctor for: my boyfriend's father's employee's little Japanese wife who is pregnant and has some sort of weird medical condition. Being pregnant and small, she wanted to go back to Japan and have the baby. Hah! Double hah! Every Asian person knows that you should always go to America to have babies so the baby can have citizenship, and maybe so could Mommy. Only a fool would have a baby in not-America when that can be avoided.

I settled for a Japanese-speaking certified nurse midwife in a health center in Roxbury. She worked in Japan as a midwife. How hot am I. It took me two days, but I did it. I found the answer to their little Japanese prayers.

And there you have it: another little piece of Asian culture.

Blog etiquette.

Ew. I started writing an entry about some [crap], and it was turning out really meaningless, so I stopped. I don't want to write meaninglessly because that would be beneath me as a headstrong and opinionated person.

Honestly, I don't know what to blog about.

Maybe I'll blog about how this one person on VQ's blog won't believe that AIDS is caused by HIV. Yes, there is actually a person who doesn't believe AIDS is the result of a serious case of HIV viral infection. I'm going to quote myself because I'm too lazy to write it again.

HIV, a virus, gives you a condition that makes apoptosis occur in your T4-helper cells which are essential to every immuno-response. The virus penetrates these cells and lies dormant in the DNA until it becomes active. Then it begins to replicate itself inside the cell, using the cell's resources. When there are enough, apoptosis occurs, and all the viruses are released. Being HIV+ means that your body has created antibodies to attack the virus (though with futility), and that you tested positive for these antibodies. AIDS is when there are so few (~200) T4-cells, since the virus killed them, that you are in serious danger if any sort of infection occurs in your body.

I don't know. Maybe a shot in the dark, but that's what I picked up at college. It sounds pretty convincing, doesn't it? And they do tons of research based on this.

What really gets my goat (and has gotten my goat multiple times) is the symbolic Chupacabra from Hell: the blog debater. The blog debater is a person who goes to blogs where blogmasters talk about real serious stuff in big, smart words, and then they try and bring in some idea or other with more big, not always smart, words.

Excuse me if I'm blind, but when that little link says comments, it doesn't say: Have a serious debate here! Test your best debating skills! Debate with people who take themselves too seriously!

Quite honestly, I have no respect for a good debate. I'd be like the Alan Shore (reference?) of little Chinese girl lawyers if I were a lawyer. Debates are stupid. The real world is not a debate. No one gives a crap about presenting ideas in a clear and inoffensive manner. Hey, if CNN can't do it, why should I learn how to?

Now, I know Steele gave me an A on that rebuttal paper because I was crystal when it came to refuting that opinion piece, but I chose a stupid one on purpose because obviously I'm not going to be so objective on something I care about. You would need to seriously discipline me to get me to "debate" in a civilized fashion. Like whips and all that.

So blog debaters, I understand your need to voice your opinions like you're a grown-up and your need to be treated like you're at afternoon tea with the governor, but blogs are not afternoon tea with the governor. It's pretty much free territory. Would it really hurt your pride that much to take a few punches and laugh it off? No. It builds character. I promise.

That is why I like Billy D. He is funny and he makes a point. Definitely the best VQ-er. Lookin' sharp there, D.

The insanity continues.

Do you know how hard it is to find a decent goat graphic these days? Sheesh.

Philanthropy.

Damn it. I keep pressing back on this page for some reason, and I end up losing all my posts! I could go off in a string of obscenities, but that would be a further waste of my time.

Now I have to start over.

Pre-post message to the readers:

Dear Readers,

I would like to express my gratitude for your existence. How a silly girl like me got anyone to bat an eye is truly a wonder. It would be nice to continue being gracious and eloquent, but that is really not my strong suit, I believe.

Please enjoy yourselves, and don't have a hernia.

Today, I'm going to talk about something uplifting and positive. Ooooohhh. What the hell is going on, right? Well, this was all brought upon by a certain boyfriend who took me to a certain house on Popponesset Island (in Cape Cod). What kind of people have houses in Cape Cod, on an island nonetheless? Rich people. And what do rich people talk about? Their rich exploits. In this case, their rich exploits in Alaska, Puerto Rico, Greece, blah blah, blah blah, blah blah. Don't get me wrong (I hate it when people get me wrong, hah), they're nice people, and I certainly do love them for it. But we all have to admit, the generations get more and more messed up as you go along. If your mommy and daddy are rich, you get to have everything, and everything doesn't seem like all that much. (He dares to tell me ski camp is exactly like normal camp. Except you're at Mt. Hood and skiing!)

They have no idea, do they? When I was little, I wasn't busy being bored by the spectacular view of Alaskan landscapes, or having fun sliding down mountains. I was scrounging up free food at those church festival things, and wearing hand-me-downs from almost everyone we knew. Yeah, we were blind, freaking in the dark poor.

I'm just going to plunge right in: I'm not exactly what you call a people person. Actually, I'm the irksome type who gets annoyed by everything. Certainly, I am not outgoing or friendly most of the time. In fact, I try to avoid eye contact as much as possible. To strangers, I must be like a real raging bitch. Hey, I'd rather be a raging bitch than one of those falsely nice people who only act so nice because they're fake piles of shit (i.e. a lot of people who wear those ugly i.d. bracelets).

Still, I try to hold the door. I try to say thank you. I try to be polite and courteous.

But that's not what philanthropy's all about. Don't confuse them. You can be a selfish-ass person who is polite and outgoing as hell. Trust me. I had to live with one for a few months.

Call me old-fashioned. Call me an idealist. Call me a socialist for all I care. But I think every damned kid deserves to go to Greece. I don't give a crap if he's rich or poor, he deserves to go to Greece and Puerto Rico and Japan and the moon. He deserves to have the opportunity to make something out of himself, to learn about other people, to try and connect to this horrible human breeding ground we call Earth.

And most privileged kids will never understand that they're family vacations and worry-free spending is not a God-given right.

So when I become fortunate in the financial way, (which I plan to be because I want to be a kick-ass doctor and all) I'm going to not give my kids everything they want. Maybe the world's not fair, but kids are not going to be some kind of spoon-fed, soft-skinned wimps who have no idea how to succeed as a human being. In our day and age, there's no such thing as the self-made man. I almost wish I could be poor just to show them how hard life is and how lucky they are, but I'm not crazy. No one wants to be poor.

Therefore, I have come to the conclusion that the best way (not the only way) to be a philanthropist is to make sure your kids don't become assholes. Assholes are easy to produce. They're like accidents or defaults, really. It must be a lot of work...

Random appreciation moment: My boyfriend's mommy is great because of her generosity. It is the most vast and deeply felt generosity I have ever encountered. Let us all bask in its glory and learn something from it.

Minority.

After being accused of being a moral parasite, I have to say I feel pretty damn good. I've never been called anything so... threatening before. You know, parasites cause real damage, and they can even kill the organism they breed on. I'm usually such a small, unintimidating girl, but online I can make people angry! Yeah!

I'm starting to think that the only people who read my blog are Christian libertarians because of what carried over from Vox Popoli to The Court of the Virgin Queen to me, and, well, as you can see, I'm completely not at all a Christian libertarian. This is weird because I feel like I'm trapped in a very small part of the world where only Christian libertarians live.

As far as I'm concerned, anyone's cool as long as they have a sense of humor. But I find that a lot of people don't, and that's disturbing because modern American Culture is all about humor. Then again, who cares about culture.

So if you read my blog and you haven't read VQ's or Vox's, it would be nice if you left me a little message to let me know. (I don't expect anyone, really.)

Another, to pass the time.

Two posts in one day! Wow-whee!

Two more hours to kill, my friends.

I write imflammatory comments, yet I'm afraid to inflame. What kind of cowardly instigator am I? Should I have a disclaimer? Okay.

Disclaimer: Everything I write is actually full of shit. There's no point in being offended by it. It's like talking to hear yourself talk. I'm writing to see text on a page.

After a decent thirty seconds of soul searching, I have come to this conclusion: Since it takes so much to draw out a response from people, I feel it's necessary to be obnoxious and offensive. It's like a jump-start for your brain. Maybe if I'm awful enough, I'll get you to think about something passionately. And that would be boatloads of fun.

Speaking of fun, this lovely doggy-woggy is going to be in court soon. Should I let that speak for itself, or should I ridicule it for a few minutes? Ridicule it is. The Boston Globe can be quoted: "In an age when courts hear too many of life's grim tales, Murphy's story brought some badly needed chuckles that resonated nationwide." Yes, because courts are places where chuckles belong. Screw court; let's just bring the whole procession to a circus. While we're at it, let's move funerals aways from cemeteries and bring them to circuses, too. Hell, dogs can be the pallbearers. That would be a good laugh.

Jesus is my what?

The fact of the matter is that I have four hours to kill because my stock of cells got contaminated (not by me), and now I have nothing to do experiments with. I have to wait till next week for the cells to grow and split and grow. The scientific world, as always, is running like clockwork. Every day I feel a little closer to explaining the inexplicable nature of life even though my results from Tuesday were really weird.

Now I am desperately seeking some simple information on anisomycin that could possibly help me. That is not going so well, or maybe too well. And since no one reads this anyway, I think I'll tell you why I think Christian people are so creepy.

I don't think all Christian people are creepy. The secular ones aren't so bad, just like secular Jews are cool. But then you have the hardcore go-to-church-every-Sunday types who strictly follow some kind of prescribed morals. They freak the hell out of me (no pun intended). I mean, come on, religion should be an obligation that no one wants to act upon willingly, or at least without a bout of complaints. Sure, you can love God all you want, but God's more like a teacher; you do as much work or get in as much trouble as you know you can get away with without being yelled at, suspended, or, ultimately, expelled (to Hell). Sometimes, you do something wrong, and the teacher gets mad, but she'll forgive you because you're just a stupid kid. A normal kid would be as described. Only the creepy little annoying suck-ups fawn over the teacher and do extra homework. Those are the ones who are tattle-tales and apple-polishers. Derogatory.

I have Christian friends. A lot of church-ish people helped my family back when we were literally destitute. Christians are nice peoples... when they want to be.

Then again, there are those crazy Christian people who want to impose some sort of weird morals on the world like we should all be happy drones who never do wrong. Of course, we should all accept Jesus Christ as our savior for such and such reasons. I saw The Passion of Christ. Please, no need to shout. I get it. You love him because he did all this stuff to save your souls. Okay, but I don't think my soul needs saving. I don't want to be given props for being a good person; I want to be given props for doing well on a test, for baking awesome brownies, for brushing the cat, but not because I'm making the right decisions in regards to morality. Right or wrong, I don't need some book to tell me what's the right way to act. As for gay marriage, go for it. Marry a couch for all I care. There's no integrity to a word. A word is fabricated. Make it anything you want it to be.

What's the deal with not wanting to find out how the world work? What have you people got against science? I don't see you complaining about science when it's all going around curing your diseases. But as soon as one atom bomb drops or something, you denounce it. Hey, you win some, you lose some. If you're going to whine about stem cell research and how science is messing with your morals, then get off the penicillin and walk off your own damn infections. Who needs cancer treatment when you have God? No need for an abortion because God stopped you from having premarital sex. Yes... that is so realistic.

And it's a little offensive. I don't think my people took it so well when you tried to convert us. How do you expect to get along with the rest of the world when you're all about your God? We, the heathens, don't take it well when you call us heathens and look down on us. Let's just keep religion out of our diplomatic dealings.

Really, there's a need for some sort of eternal hope in the afterlife and in a greater being. God's nice and all, but please stop smoking the Bible to get high off Christian morals. Look, here's the deal: When the chemotherapy and double mastectomy fail, then you can turn to God as your last resort. I seriously would not advise prayer as treatment for cancer. Seriously.

Lance, you've created a monster.

If you happen to be one of the altruistic supporters of Lance Armstrong's cancer bracelet campaign thingy, you're a dumbass. Well, aren't you shocked and insulted. How dare I say that after you forked over a buck for an ugly bracelet that supposedly shows how charitable and supportive you are of stuff like cancer, troops, and "freedom." I don't know how to tell you this, but you're not a good person. You're on some freaky power trip that is so prone to manifest itself among young, white liberals (who are often blond and wear American Eagle) because they think they have some sort of good intention to change the world.

And you are. You are changing the world. You're making it worse by wasting electricity and water, by drinking and driving, by flaunting your stomach fat in your midriftless shirts, and especially by imposing those hideous bracelets into our lives. If you think you're actually solving "the problem" by wearing some stupid bracelet with the word "respect" on it, you are sadly misled. Because you are the problem. And you're not solving it in any way ever.

But the thing is, you really have no intention to sacrifice yourself for anyone else's well-being. Those damn bracelets are more for aesthetic value than for anything else (which proves the bad taste of the AE-wearers). Look, since you really don't care about a lot of stuff like respect and cancer, don't pretend like you do. Please, just be honest and get rid of those ugly-ass bracelets. You're not fooling anyone.

Thank you.

The plight of the blind boater.

I have learned something very important this weekend: We have to seriously start rallying for the rights of blind boaters everywhere. After years of movements to eliminate the discrimination of people based on their physical disabilities, I am surprised -- no, shocked and appalled that no one has yet spoken up for the everyday blind boater.

Various other physically decapacitated boaters have been spoken for, such as this deaf boater, who ironically takes a cruel stab at those who are visually challenged. The ability to see clearly does not jeopardize a person's ability to skillfully operate a vehicle. Frankly, his blindness makes his other senses keener, and his intuition for suitable for the complex sport of boating. Sure, many of you may argue that a blind man cannot see where he is going and will eventually crash into a boat or hurt someone. I have the solution.

Two entries ago, I discussed the acute intelligence of the average dolphin. Clearly, they are far more intelligent than a dog, so why not train a new breed of seeing eye dolphins? This would represent a tremendous milestone in the struggle for blind boater's rights. Furthermore, these hooligan dolphins will finally be gainfully employed like model citizens should be.

Next stop: Teaching seeing eye dogs how to drive.

Shanghai: Shangri-la?

A year ago this time, I was in China sweating it out in the horrible, horrible humidity. And now, as I sit here typing away to you who is not reading, I am melting just a little bit even under all this air conditioning. Really, China isn't half as bad compared to this. Even if it were thirty-eight degrees Celsius and the air were as wet as a lake, the food was good and the general free-for-all feel of city was (ironically?) liberating. But of course, perhaps you would object to my personal Utopia. After all, you could seriously eat a big dog there guiltlessly. (By the way, I've been to that place in the picture. And yes, it is everything it's cracked up to be.)

So why am I sitting here making desperate plugs for China? Seriously, I have nothing better to do. I was going to talk about Arrested Development, but my segue was probably something you would completely not care about (not that I suppose you really care about anything).

You're probably thinking, how can a country where people eat dogs be remotely great? That's exactly why it's so great: because you can eat dogs. You can do lots of stuff beside eating dogs. You can pick your nose in public. You can bargain in department stores. You can eat buns hot off the steamer. You can buy a purebred puppy or kitten for twenty bucks. You can buy a DVD for one buck. What a land of freedom. If you have the cash, go crazy. Go nuts. Do whatever you want.

And even better. All the landscapes and scenery, it's everything you can hope for and more. Much, much more. That kind of ancient mysticism, you can neither buy nor produce from a meer two and half hundred years of history.

China: Land that retains its history and culture? Yes (unlike Japan that totally sold out). Land that is crazy competitive and capitalistic? Pretty much. Land that has the best food ever, and you haven't lived till you've had it? Definitely (I bet even dog tastes pretty damn good).

You want me to talk about the communist regime? Too bad.

What the hell, Douglas Adams?

I saw Hitchhiker's a while ago. Not that I'm a huge nerd or anything (really, aren't I just), but I can admit that I was fairly excited about the film's release. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't exactly struck by the book. Frankly, (throw tomatoes at me if you will) I found it incredibly dull, lacking substance, and riding shamelessly on the coattails of quirk. I was purely amazed by the some of the visual effects displayed by the trailer.

What I think sums up the movie very well is a quote by a certain boyfriend's brother: "It was like a children's movie, but at the same time I can't imagine any child liking it." Targetting an audience is possibly the most important thing in the universe, rhetoric professor insists.

Sadly, the best part of the movie is the beginning when the narrator narrates that dolphins are the second smartest animals on Earth. Then a cute little fish song ensues (see "So Long & Thanks for all the Fish"). So my question is: What the hell, Douglas Adams? Did you foresee this happening? Did you know about this from the beginning, and kept it from us all this time?

Of course, we all know what I'm talking about (probably unlikely). Dolphins have been discovered using tools! (Eery, since the day before yesterday, I made a comment about dolphins being able to use tools if chimps can.) Anyway, this delightful discovery has revealed the cutest tool-using technique in the history of the world. Apparently, adult dolphins teach their young to cover their snouts with conical sponges for protection while they forage. All together now: awwwwwwwwww.

First the wholphin, and now this? Dolphins are just the most precious little bastards.

Mean boys.

It's not hard to believe that Tina Fey dedicated a short-of-genius script to the nuances of teenage girl-ism. After all, we all have to admit, girls are (for lack of a more suitable word): bitches. If you fail to see this, you are either a hermit with no TV, or a German sausage. We were all once in high school (even worse, middle school) and we remember the ongoing rage of war that proceeded throughout our pseudo-dramatic, soapy peers. "(Insert slutty girl's name) totally hooked up with (insert stupid girl's name) boyfriend last night. She is such a slut." Yeah. Blah blah... blah blah. That's all well and good, but come to think of it, guys are quite the little gossip-mongering, catty Barbie dolls as well. Of course, by different standards.

So, as I have pondered this mysterious condition for many a day now, I have come to a few conclusions:

1. Spawn of Alfred Adler: Boys, men, young men, naturally, all fear being inferior, i.e. inferiority complex. The general overcompensation they resort to when feeling threatened is to attack the object of their fear, and to smuther it until it can no longer pose a threat. Since this can't be done physically like in the jungle, boys from a young age learn to destroy someone socially- especially when the threat is a female.

2. A Murder of Crows: Birds of a feather flock together. If a boy puts himself in a position to be pointed out as different, he may soon find himself to be ousted by his murder, leaving him vulnerable and alone. The easiest way to achieve social acceptance is to shift the target from himself to another prey. Other boys will gladly join in the derision since they also deeply fear an ousting.

3. Nice Guys Finish Last: A double crossing nature will get you far. If a guy is sneaky enough, he can both prey on an object and copy homework from him at the same time. This is considered a valued social skill which many find elusive. The popularity of the tactic, however, is brought about often by the stupidity of the prey.

4. Too Dumb to Mate: Members of a murder are often unaware of the unappealing façade of such a close-knit (maybe to the point of suspected homosexuality) group. Thus, we see an unlikelihood in the development of intimate relations where the murder tends to flock and hunt. However, when each member is dissected from his group and group-related fears, his disposition may prove to be favorable to a few females.

And there you have it. After being corralled like cattle into close, confined spaces with my peers, all I have to say is: I blame the schools.

My very own spot in the cytoplasm

Dear everybody,

I'm sure any blind person could see the huge disparity in date between my last entry and this one. Must a girl explain her life away? Well, come on now. Can't I be a writer, a girlfriend, a daughter, and a research intern? And why is it that the second time around, Erica Jong sounds downright gullible? (Forgive me, Erica Jong.) Those are the infinite questions of the universe.

Speaking of the universe, I'm playing G-O-D in my very own little microcosm here. I am Lord of all RMS-13 cells! I shall smite thee who betrays me! Flee, young microbes, and fear my antibiotics! But rest safe, fresh RMS-13 cells, for I shall protect thee from evil midget armies of bacteria.

I apologize, sincerely. I'm a little delirious from working in the laboratory of the world reknowned Dr. P. Reed Larsen. Yeah, that's right. He's like the Tom Cruise of endocrine research. You wish you were me.

And this entails?

[Removed for reasons such as not wanting anyone to steal my research.]

Moral to the story: Support stem cell research unless you're ready to bow to the Germans and North Koreans!

Yay God.