I need to interview four gay people for my psych class. The interviews will take an hour each, though possibly some of that hour will just be filling out a questionnaire. You will be audio-taped, but not duct-taped (unless you find that helpful). There will be very stupid questions involved, because psychology is the stupidest of sciences. Bisexual people are welcome, provided you feel you have some feeling for the gay culture, whatever the hell that means. I will definitely be asking you whether you enjoy molesting small children and at some point you will absolutely be accused of communist tendencies.

I was thinking of trying to trick Richard, Erica, Jolie and and Jason (if he’s back in time) into doing this, but if you are feeling particularly gay then just let me know.

Tasmanian devil moms give birth to a litter of 20 or so Tasmanian devil babies and as soon as they are born the babies start frantically crawling towards the mother’s marsupial pouch. There are only four nipples in the pouch. This means 16 Tasmanian devil babies are born only to die. Personally, I find this wasteful. I do intend to point it out the next time I’m arguing with a religious nut, though. Surely a just God would not allow the death of sixteen cute little devils.

A Tasmanian devil eats a large meal. Its meal is the equivalent of a human sitting down to a 50 lb steak. Plus they will eat just about anything. I think I should start a non-profit organization which hires people to lurk around the birthing sites of these devils and then, when the time is right, rush in and snatch up the sixteen who don’t make it in time. Then they can smuggle the devils on airplanes back to San Francisco, where we can let them lose in controlled herds on Market Street to eat up all the garbage and yuck which floats around these days. Plus it would be really neat to see the Market Street businessmen fleeing before a herd of screaming devils.

Who’s with me?

I went to the protest on Sunday all hungover and hating crowds. Despite a niggling concern over whether these protests are ever going to do any good, I still feel that we’ve entered an interesting time. People are saying the same thing all over the world. That’s a new phenomenon, at least for my lifetime. It’s nice to know I’m not alone.

Rome

Madrid

San Francisco

Photos are courtesy of a link from Ian’s page.

I wrote the rough draft of what turned out to be a racist paper for my English class. In the paper I (rather successfully) argued that everyone should just speak English if they ever expect to get anywhere in life. When I brought the racist paper in to English to be “peer edited” (ha) by my fellow students, they read it through and then handed it back, saying what amounted to “I am unwilling to criticize this in any way because I’m unsure what all these enormous vocabulary words mean.” Since both members of my group spoke English as a second language, I feel that this only proves my thesis and I am considering incorporating this into my final draft.

Seriously though, I’m not racist. I just happen to speak only English, and I just happen to be a member of the ethnic group currently in power, and I just happen to believe that if I don’t know what the cock* you are saying to me then I can’t be responsible for what happens to you or the rest of your minority.**

*”What the cock” is courtesy of at least Jason and possibly others.

**I regret the necessity of this footnote, but people are so weirdly touchy about this stuff: I DON’T REALLY THINK EVERYONE SHOULD SPEAK ENGLISH. Please don’t comment on this entry with some serious counter-argument. And sure as hell don’t comment in Spanish or some other god-foresaken language because you know I have no use for that shit.

I got attacked by a band of hippies on Sproul (a plaza, not a drug) today and was forced into taking and wearing a black armband to show my non-support of the war. I feel like an animal that’s been tagged and re-released into the wild. If you talk to me and I seem a little woozy, it’s just that the tranquilizers are still wearing off.

Happy Valentine’s day, also. It’s odd – the past two years I have had miserable times because I wasn’t with someone and really wanted to be. This year I am with someone, who is wonderful, and you know what? This day still isn’t so special. Or possibly this goddamn depressing black armband is just bringing me down.

On mitochondria:

“The mitochondria produce ATP, which, unlike food energy, can then be used everywhere else in the cells. It’s much like using a credit card rather than an out-of-state check. ATP: It’s everywhere you want to be.”

On chromosomes:

“And what has always baffled me is that lesbian pornography is labeled as ‘Triple X’ when in fact it should be ‘Quadruple X,’ as it consists of two sets of X chromosomes.”

On plant life:

“So you can see by this diagram that while humans need plants, plants do not need humans. I know a lot of you are living away from your parents’ homes for the first time, but I don’t care how independent you think you are: there’s not a damn one of you who can beat out a banana tree for self-sufficiency.”

This entry has been deleted in case the Federal government is monitoring my website. Sorry for the inconvenience.

My English prof looks like a sketch of a human, just three hundred-odd bones stacked together haphazardly and covered with a thin net of skin to keep the mosquitos off. She comes rattling through the door in a tame suit with matching lipstick and I cower and quake in my chair like Jaime Lee Curtis in Halloween. She, prof not Curtis, terrifies me to an absurd degree and I don’t know why. It can only partially be ascribed to her status as a walking skeleton, a creepy image even beyond childhood.

My whole body goes on alert when I see her. I start sweating, and my heart pounds to be let out, and my stomach begins inexplicably to growl no matter how much I’ve eaten before class. I feel like a third grader. I want her to like me. I want her to invite me to join the gifted and talented program; I want her to send the class teddy bear home with me today. I wish we could have back to school night so that I could hover next to her while she says nice things about me to my parents. I wish I could hide under the desk when I see her.

I already hate the teacher’s pet, who is, unfairly, a natural blond. Plus, her name is Stevie, a name popularized by the hugely cool Stevie Nicks. She should be stuffed in a barrel and dragged down Main Street by a team of four white horses. I knew that the manuscript was discovered in 1908. You don’t have to be such a showoff, brainiac.

Well, we finally tied the knot. They spelled his name wrong, but other than that I think that our wedding site is just perfect.