tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79309127024224493002024-02-18T21:29:28.439-08:00Living in Kellie's WorldLife and Marriage in the Twenty-First CenturyJoehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.comBlogger183125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-50400391120735828772015-11-12T09:50:00.001-08:002015-11-13T15:27:16.224-08:00One Night In Puerto Rico<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It’s been 16 months since I’ve written anything, but preparing remarks for my daughter Dani's wedding got the creative juices flowing again. Unfortunately, that's not the only thing that started flowing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Despite 21 days of traveling and eating Caribbean food from kitchens of dubious cleanliness, my stomach had held up remarkably well. That hasn't always been the case. Back in 1996, while traveling in Japan, the sushi I consumed for lunch one day suddenly felt like it was still alive and swimming through my intestines and making a mad dash for my colon. I was in full blown panic mode. Kellie kept telling me to calm down but I just yelled at her. "I can't calm down, it's quivering."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We had a Japanese student with us who we hired as translator and tour guide. He could sense my distress but the language barrier prevented us from conveying the pressing nature of the problem I was struggling to contain. Eventually he came to comprehend my predicament and found a restroom just in time to prevent me from fertilizing the bonsai trees. The men's room was much different than anything I'd encountered previously, it was little more than a porcelain hole in the floor. Without alternatives, I was forced to make do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Which brings me back to my latest gastrointestinal incident. We had just said goodbye to my brothers Tony and Russell and their significant others after lovely dinner at Metropol Restaurante & Bar in San Juan, Puerto Rico. We were walking back to our rental car when the first stomach bubbles started to roil. I considered returning to the restaurant to use el baño but it was only a 20 minute ride back to our condo in Old San Juan so I figured I could hold out. I was wrong.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Kellie, I don't think I'm going to make it." It was gut wrenchingly obvious that my last meal was not going to complete the normal digestive process. The only question was which bodily orifice would provide the exit. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Do you want me to pull over," she asked?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Yes."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Where?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"I don't care, anyplace there's a bathroom, and hurry. Just please go faster."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"I don't see a bathroom. Do you want me to pull onto the shoulder?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"No. There's still too much light. And slow down, the bumps are killing me." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I was beginning to fear that I wouldn't be granted the luxury of a restroom. We were less than halfway home and my situation was desperate. I begged Kellie to find a restroom. Failing that, I was satisfied that my current condition qualified as an emergency permitting us to stop on the shoulder. Kellie spotted a small, rundown gas station, and as soon as the car came to stop I bolted and ran into the station’s little convenience store.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">There was no restroom. Now this is where things started to get a little fuzzy. Suddenly I got very warm, and by warm I mean hot, and by hot I mean Joan Of Arc hot. The room made one revolution and then a bag of potato chips hit me in the face. I can't recall the brand. Or maybe my face hit the bag of potato chips. Or maybe the bag of potato chips kept my head from whacking the floor. It's hard to recollect. As I said, things were fuzzy. The next thing I remember was a voice telling me I was on the floor and an out stretched hand trying to help me stand. I wonder if the medical literature has any other record of someone having to chuck a turd so badly that they passed out in a Puerto Rican gas station minimart. Lucky, the demon that felled me decided to remain still during my brief unconsciousness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I wobbled back to the car and told Kellie to drive around the corner. I was barely coherent. Ignoring the advice on our rental car contract to avoid stopping in unlit areas, I directed Kellie to the pull over in the darkest spot available. Jumping from the car, I stripped off my pants and shoes faster than if Kellie had just said let’s have sex. With both hands braced against the car door, I squatted and did my best impression of a bear in the woods. Unfortunately for Kellie, the car door was open and the wind was at my back. She kept complaining about the putrid odor and the languid pace of the operation, demanding that I get back in the car and lock the doors. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Find something I can use for toilet paper," I demanded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"I can't find anything except your gray sweatshirt."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I had absolutely no intention of using my favorite sweatshirt for damage control. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Things got worse. "Do you have any water," I shouted. "I think I got it on my fingers." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">After releasing my tormentor, the crisis soon abated, and I donned what remained of my clothing that had not been sacrificed in aftermath cleanup. I'm sure the heavy tropical rain that evening eradicated most of the biohazard, leaving behind only an empty water bottle and one pair of heavily soiled size 34 Haines tighty-whities. I wish I had worn boxers that day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It was an achievement just get my business done outside of the motor vehicle. I'm not proud of myself, but it could have been worse. Had my pants not survived the ordeal, this saga would have continued as I exited the car at the El Convento Hotel valet stand, naked from the waist down. Thankfully, I still had my dignity.</span><br />
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Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-52159118517329602502014-07-29T08:27:00.000-07:002014-07-29T08:45:25.114-07:00Free Will: A Philosophical Discussion<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The Hand Of Reason</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">There’s never a good time to discuss philosophy with Kellie, but there are certainly bad times. One of those less opportune moments is right after Kellie has consumed a half liter of Turkish wine following a twelve-hour flight from Los Angles to Istanbul. I’m not sure why I brought up the subject of <i>free will</i>, but I certainly regret it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“We don’t have free will,” I told Kellie. “We believe we're in control our own actions but it’s just an illusion.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Whack! Kellie's right palm landed landed flush against my left cheek.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“See! That’s free will. I didn’t have to slap you in the face,” said Kellie. “I just chose to do it.”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">“Don't hit me."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"There are <a href="http://exploringthemind.com/the-mind/brain-scans-can-reveal-your-decisions-7-seconds-before-you-decide">scientific studies</a> where researchers using functional magnetic resonance imaging (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Functional_magnetic_resonance_imaging">fMRI</a>) equipment were able to predict a subject’s actions seven seconds before the subject was consciously aware of his decision to act,” I explained.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Whack! “That’s free will again,” declared Kellie. “You should have seen that coming seven seconds ago.”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">“I can’t read your mind. I don’t have an fMRI. Just stop hitting me for a minute and listen?" </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"The universe is governed by the laws of physics even if we don’t understand them all yet. That doesn’t leave much room for free will.”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">“It was my choice to slap you. No one made me do it.”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">“You were just responding to external stimuli,” I explained.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">“Okay, so I’m not responsible for smacking you?" she asked.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">“No,” I answered, immediately regretting my response.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Whack! “Free will again.”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Kellie failed to grasp the subtly of my argument. It was time to try approach another approach. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">“The concept of an omniscient god is also incompatible with free will. If an all-knowing being can foresee every decision we will ever make, then we </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">really </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">don’t have a choice.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Kellie isn’t religious so I shouldn't have expected she'd be swayed by God.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Whack! “Of course I have free will,” insisted Kellie. “ And I'm going to slap that silly idea right out of your head.”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It was at this juncture that the forces governing the universe compelled me to grab Kellie’s wrists. She’s quite weak, and once restrained she could no longer pursue her former line of reasoning. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I faced a dilemma: either concede that we have free will or endure Kellie's brutal, philosophical onslaught. I had no choice but to admit that Kellie has free will. In return, the universe stopped slapping me in the face.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">------------------------------------------------------------------------</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>I'm back on the grid at Yeah Write.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i></i></span></span>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-73286582783341500282014-07-23T09:53:00.000-07:002015-08-17T04:41:25.291-07:00The Unhappy Camper<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm jumping for joy. Notice my smile.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I am not a happy camper. In fact I fail to see the point of camping. How can anyone possibly derive pleasure by abandoning the amenities of home and living in dirt, using an out house, and having to pay fifty cents for a three-minute shower in a room where the previous user bathed their dog? (I should mention that the previous user bathing their dog was my wife, Kellie.) The privilege of experiencing poverty doesn't come cheaply. The beat up RV we rented ran $125 per day for five days, not to mention the $400 in gas it took to transport that beast from Los Angeles to Morro Bay and back. And just like living in a Third World country, I had intermittent electrical power, drinking water of questionable purity, and no convenient place to dispose of human waste. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wish I was anywhere else.</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Camping is not fun. I fail to see the attraction of pretending I'm poor. I acquiesced to this little adventure only because Terminx was fumigating our house and we had to go somewhere. Kellie, who didn't want to bother with eradicating the terminates because they eat so slowly, insisted we go camping.</span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It's not just living in an RV that bothers me, moving that thing over public roads scares the crap out of me. I'm a retired submarine captain. M</span>aneuvering<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> an 18,000 ton nuclear powered, nuclear armed Ohio Class ballistic missile submarine around the world never fazed me, but driving a three-ton RV up and down a seven percent grade made me sweat. Going up hill I worried about over heating. Going downhill I worried about imminent break failure.</span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Kellie rented our RV from LA Discount </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">RV</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Rentals, where RV rentals are half the price and one-eighth the quality of their competitors. There is an advantage to renting a well worn RV. It's hard to do any noticeable damage. One of our dogs threw up on the couch. After Kellie wiped it up it was the cleanest thing in the vehicle.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’m glad I went on this latest trip, if only to remind me why I should never do it again. Kellie surely had an ulterior motive for taking me camping. I can hear her already. “Honey, I need a vacation. Would you rather take a cruise or go camping?” </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-48979305960085067222014-07-09T09:52:00.001-07:002016-05-07T18:18:36.072-07:00Boehner Blames Obama For Pit Bull Attacks<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; text-align: start;">WASHINGTON (Living in Kellie’s World)—Speaker of the House John Boehner (R-Ohio) said today that he blames President Obama for the rise in Pit Bull attacks since 2008.</span>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Boehner, speaking at the weekly GOP breakfast claimed, “The evidence from dogbite.org is unequivocal. Since President Obama took office in 2008, Pit Bull attacks have increased every year, reversing the Bush administration’s signature achievement of reducing canine attacks.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Boehner also accused the President of inciting Pit Bulls to single out Republicans. “In case you haven’t noticed, the line representing the number of attacks is red. I don’t think this is a coincidence.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Even more disturbing, according Boehner, was the dramatic rise in the number of Pit Bull attacks after Republicans gained control of the House in 2012. “Frankly, I’m worried,” said Boehner. “Pit Bull attacks nearly doubled in 2012. Can you imagine the crisis this nation will face if the Republicans win control of the Senate in 2016?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">People who like this post might also like <i><a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2013/08/breaking-news-candidate-says-hes-not.html">BREAKING NEWS: Candidate Says He's Not A Weiner</a>.</i></span><br />
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Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-74567333866219358902014-06-30T08:55:00.002-07:002014-06-30T13:39:48.650-07:00Here We Go Again!<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It’s been more than month since I’ve written anything in any of my three blogs; life intervened. Spending a month with my father following his <a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2014/05/voicemail.html">open heart surgery</a> broke my writing habit. In a couple of weeks we start our biggest trip of the year, which should give me time to start writing again. I say <i>biggest trip</i> because we’ve already cruised a few times this year and plan to finish 2014 with a few weeks in the Caribbean. What started out as an eight-day tour of Ireland somehow grew into a two-month trek.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>14 - 18 July: Camping Santa Barbara, CA</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Camping is not my idea of a vacation, but neither is breathing Sulfuryl Fluoride. We have termites, and I'll be conducting unrestricted chemical warfare. My house may spend a few nights in a tent but I'm not. We’re getting an RV. I hope it has a satellite dish and a Jacuzzi.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>19 - 20 July: Home to Repack</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We’re headed to Europe for two months so we’ll need more than bathing suits.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>21 July: Depart LAX</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Fifteen plus hours in coach on Turkish Airlines is not my idea of a good time. I plan to be heavily intoxicated before we takeoff. That may delay the start of my writing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>22 - 25 July: Istanbul, Turkey</b></span>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Kellie discovered that Turkish Airlines has the cheapest fares from the U.S. to Europe, and Kellie like cheap travel. You just have to accept a 12-hour layover. Our <a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2014/02/reckless-abandonment.html">Iranian friends</a> reminded us that there was no difference in airfare whether laying over for a few hours or a few days. So we’re going to see Istanbul.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>25 July - 3 August: Corsica, France</b></span>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Kellie has spent the last three years learning French, so France is always on the itinerary. We charted a sailboat for three nights–just me, Kellie and the couple who own the boat. The presence of witnesses should reduce the probability of someone <a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2012/05/series-of-unfortunate-events.html"><i>accidentally</i> falling overboard</a>. I’m the only one who doesn’t speak French. This ought to be interesting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>4 - 11 August: Chamonix, French Alps</b></span>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We loved hiking Mount Blanc so much last year we decided to go back for a longer visit. I mostly plan on hiking downhill, which means I'll have to take a cable car to the summit. Those things unnerve me. I always imagine that the cable will snap, but Kellie and I survive the fall and have our own private <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donner_Party">Donner Party</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>11 - 16 August: Normandy, France</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Every so often Kellie throws me a bone and plans a stop at a place I want to visit. I don’t get many of these. In 1996 I stood at ground zero in Hiroshima, Japan. In 2005 I got to visit Churchill’s war rooms. Now in 2014 I finally get to see where Operation Overlord began. I can do the math; I wonder where she’ll take me see in 2023.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>16 - 30 August: Ireland</b></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">That's David. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1591846404/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1591846404&linkCode=as2&tag=theda01-20&linkId=HW5QVY2MAJ5WHSWT">Read his book.</a><img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=theda01-20&l=as2&o=1&a=1591846404" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This whole trip started because our friends David and Jane asked us to accompany them on eight-day tour of Ireland. Of course Kellie had no intention of going all the way to Europe and only spending eight days there. That would be ridiculous.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>30 August: Colchester, England</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We are not staying in Colchester.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>31 August - 14: September Transatlantic Cruise</b></span>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Why fly across the Atlantic Ocean when you can take a cruise? At least Kellie splurged for a balcony. I should have lots of free time to write because Kellie will be hooking up with <a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2012/04/kellies-cruise-husband.html">her cruise husband</a> again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It’s not a straight shot home; we’ll be stopping in: Harwich, England; Le Havre, France; Portland, England; Cork Ireland; Klaksvík (Faroe Islands); Reykjavik, Iceland; and Boston, Massachusetts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>14 - 17 September: Boston, Massachusetts </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I went to school just outside of Boston (Tufts University) and later taught NROTC at Boston University, but Kellie’s never been to Beantown. The City on a Hill will be our final stop before going home. Boston has many nicknames. You can just think of it as the place <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18caPNisP2U">where Red Sox fans have their hearts ripped out</a>. I'll get to see my old college friends Nick and Belinda. They've never met Kellie.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>17 September: Oceanside, California - Home</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">After no <a href="http://www.oceansidecrossfit.com/">Crossfit</a> for two months, I’ll probably be pudgy again. I mean pudgier than I am now. Oh well, back to the gym to get my ass kicked by Laura.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-31758549472814859562014-05-20T15:49:00.001-07:002014-05-20T16:36:25.533-07:00Voicemail<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My brother Gerard and I chat periodically. He usually calls during his drive home from work. If he calls at any other time, it typically means he has family news to share. If he leaves a voicemail that says, “Call me,” it’s usually not good news. A week after his last <i>call me</i> message, I was on a flight to New York.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The day before his surgery to repair an aortic aneurism the size of an eggplant, my father gathered his seven children at his home to review his will and final wishes.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> He chose my younger brother Tony as his advocate to execute his health care directive. With seven children, dad felt compelled to explain his choice.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"I don't want the final decision to be based solely on logic or emotion. It can't be Dina because I'm afraid she'll have me stuffed and put on display in her living room. Tony probably has best balance between logic and emotion.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Sitting in the lobby, waiting for word on dad, Tony, a wry smirk on his face, leaned over and began speaking in a hushed voice so our sisters couldn't hear him.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"Dad should have asked me to explain my criteria for deciding his ultimate fate. If the doctors tell me he's brain dead, I'm going to call a hooker every day to give him a blow job. If he gets it up, I'll keep him on life support until his money runs out." </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Tony is a good son.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“How’s he doing,” I asked the ICU nurse.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“He woke up suddenly. You can speak with him.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Dad. Dad. It’s Joe. Don’t talk. You’re still intubated. You did great. The surgery went well. I love you pop.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He winked at me. I rushed back to the waiting room. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Dad is waking up. His breathing tube will be out soon and we can all see him.” </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">An hour later we were gathered around his bedside. Even though we were warned beforehand, it was still disconcerting to seem him connected to so many wires and tubes. Dad was still too hoarse and weak to speak. He traced out names in the air of people he wanted us tell that he was still alive. He said little, but he managed to eke out the word <i>sexy</i> to describe the ICU nurse. Apparently, Tony had selected the right criteria.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I stayed with dad for a month following his surgery. The recovery wasn't smooth or easy, a seemingly endless series of doctor visits, trips to the emergency room, tests, procedures, and even another operation. But it looks like the worst is behind him now. Today he went to work for the first time since his surgery.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I hope Gerard doesn’t leave another voicemail anytime soon.</span></span><br />
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Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-45557086702560474902014-03-30T11:44:00.000-07:002015-07-13T00:09:41.002-07:00The Limitations Of Inductive Inference In Marital Relations<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Marriage is an educational institution, one where graduation is impossible and dropping out or expulsion is the only escape. I should know; I flunked out on my first attempt, but it wasn't my fault. My primary instructor was distracted tutoring other students. Now I'm enrolled in another institution of higher learning, the School Of Kellie, and while there's still no hope of receiving a diploma, there's little risk that my tutelage will be interrupted because Kellie's campus is closed to new admissions. She has all she can handle with her one transfer student who is on perpetual academic probation. Thanks to my sustained lackluster performance, frequent remediation is required, and I regularly get schooled. This week's lesson, conducted aboard the <a href="http://www.celebritycruises.com/search/loadCruiseConfigurator.do?cid=ps_pgr_goog_brndgn_1401_plan_adlk_us_8871">Celebrity Century</a> while cruising along the California Coast, explored the limitations of inductive inference in marital relations.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">From a strictly deductive standpoint, it make little sense to always agree with your wife, especially if she's wrong, which is frequently the case. However, after 17 years of wedded bliss, during which time I conducted countless experimental trials, I've learned that the consequences for disagreeing with my wife bear little relationship to the validity of her reasoning or the veracity of her premises. Therefore, from a purely inductive perspective, and for my own well being, I've concluded that agreeing with her is always the best option. That's why I readily concurred when she complained that her ass was getting too fat. I may have erred. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"So you don't want to have sex again on this cruise, do you?" she asked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It was at precisely that moment that I first recognized the difficulty of using inductive logic under conditions of matrimony. I now know that there is at least one case where it's best to vehemently disagree with one's wife despite the obvious facts regarding the state of said wife's ass.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Later at dinner I was tested again. Kellie ordered two desserts but wasn't satisfied by either of her choices. She began eyeing the crème brûlée I was enjoying. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"You are planning to share that with me, aren't you?" she asked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I had no such plans, but after my earlier error I was somewhat hesitant to respond. I was tempted to explain the positive correlation between the number of desserts consumed and the circumference of one's ass, but I demurred. Kellie must have sensed my confusion because she immediately clarified the salient aspects of the dilemma.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"So, you do want to have sex again on this cruise, don't you?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I said nothing and passed her the remainder of my crème brûlée. Inductive logic is hard.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">After dinner, tired and worn out from the day's mental exercises, I suggested we take the elevator back to our room. Kellie reminded me that supermodels take the stairs. I might have mentioned that the time it would take to climb the number of flights required for her ass to achieve supermodel status would in all likelihood exceed the length of our cruise. Any reasonable inductive inference would have suggested a different response.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I'm a slow learner, but I finally mastered inductive reasoning. Based upon a careful analysis of the available evidence, I correctly concluded that I wouldn't be having sex for the remainder of the cruise.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Of course she's smiling, she ate my crème brûlée.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"></span>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-16065642384719773462014-02-20T18:02:00.001-08:002015-07-14T19:26:40.699-07:00Mr. Winky Goes To A CrossFit Box<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I have not been very conscientious about protecting Mr. Winky over the years. Throughout a lifetime of carelessness I have subjected him to <a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2012/01/serrano-pepper-incident.html">multiple chemical burns</a> and countless assaults from an endless variety of projectiles. Today I wacked him on his head; he never saw coming. It was an accident. I apologized profusely. Just to be clear, Mr. Winky is a euphemism for the centerpiece of my family jewels, the royal staff, if you will.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">The mishap occurred just after I finished my Barbell Skillz for today’s CrossFit WOD. CrossFit, sometimes called CultFit by the unindoctrinated, is an intense strength and conditioning program designed to produce elite fitness in twenty and thirty-somethings and painful injuries in forty and fifty-somethings. I fall into the latter category. The WOD is CrossFit lingo for Workout of the Day, which is a synonym for torture.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Anyway, after completing my barbell work I began putting away my weights. At <a href="http://www.oceansidecrossfit.com/">Oceanside CrossFit</a>, we store the weights by stacking them on a pole. Prudence dictates that when placing a twenty kilogram weight back on the stack, one should not drop it nor stand too close to a descending weight accelerating at 9.8 meters per second squared. I don’t care much for prudence or dictators, and I stood way, way too close to the falling mass and sort of grazed Mr. Winky, pinching him between the falling weight and those already on the stack. Catlike reflexes propelled me backwards. A more thoughtful approach would have been to lift the weight first, but Mr. Winky was unconscious at that point.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I raced to the bathroom to check the damage. Luckily I didn’t squash anything. Let’s just say Mr. Winky’s fireman’s helmet now has a scuffed rim. The injury was not severe; however, it required ice to prevent any ugly swelling later. Sprinting from the bathroom to the mini fridge, I found one cold pack in the freezer. Back in the bathroom again, I applied the cold pack to the affected area. Mr. Winky was not happy about the injury and even less enthusiastic about the treatment, shrinking away and trying to avoid me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Thanks to prompt action on my part, Mr. Winky will probably escape with only a minor scar. My convalescence shouldn’t take very long, but Mr. Winky will have to abstain from all recreational activities, both individual and mixed pairs, for about a week.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’d hope my unfortunate experience serves as warning to other athletes. When you bring your dear friends to the gym, keep them away from the equipment.</span><br />
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Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-69384344017793593252014-02-17T20:15:00.001-08:002014-03-30T17:40:30.322-07:00Reckless Abandonment<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRsfPocuuootnUG8WjQiiOV3nOEBKAz6wGMbd-5QuBNYBXe5Q_PuuBOHnUEtAb1sCHlXhpwKU6-uJ3tw85TX_EQ8CtbM1qNTSgtL0hJcLa3US1GBi1sOsQvQEHRwE_zEPyzvtfMLRluIwi/s1600/vd+dinner.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRsfPocuuootnUG8WjQiiOV3nOEBKAz6wGMbd-5QuBNYBXe5Q_PuuBOHnUEtAb1sCHlXhpwKU6-uJ3tw85TX_EQ8CtbM1qNTSgtL0hJcLa3US1GBi1sOsQvQEHRwE_zEPyzvtfMLRluIwi/s1600/vd+dinner.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">When the alarm went off at six-thirty on Valentine’s Day morning, Kellie jumped out of bed and started packing. I smothered my head with a pillow and ignored her until she started rattling around next to the bed. She dropped my Valentine’s gift on the nightstand: a 2009 Beaulieu Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon and bag of barkTHINS</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: 0px; vertical-align: 8px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">TM</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> snacking chocolate. I didn't know what the hell barkTHINS</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: 0px; vertical-align: 8px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">TM</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> were, but at $15.99 a bottle she plunked down about four times what she normally spends on my wine. She's </span>clearly<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> guilt ridden about abandoning me on Valentine's Day.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Kellie and friends were taking a road trip to Sedona, Arizona, for a girl’s weekend, leaving me at home with our sixteen year-old daughter, Kyra; our dogs, Marley and Maddie, plus </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">another</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> mutt, Maggaie, she picked up from <a href="http://dogvacay.com/YOU-HAD-ME-AT-WOOF-Dog-Boarding-138764">Dog Vacay</a>; and an Iranian couple we’d known for about a week. The Iranians rented one of the spare bedrooms Kellie listed on <a href="https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/2246666">Airbnb</a>. Kellie was issuing instructions as she rushed out the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"Maggie eats twice a day; you may have to feed Marley by hand because she gets sad when I'm away, and don't forget to give Maddie her glaucoma medicine."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"Kyra has her first Valentine's date so you have to keep tabs her, and when she gets home I told her she could have a sleepover. Make sure they're quiet and don't disturb the Iranians."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"Oh yeah, don't forget, we another have another Airbnb guest coming today, Lucy; she's only staying one night. When she leaves you have to clean the room for Stephanie; she arrives Sunday."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"Love you, bye, Happy Valentine's Day."</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Now this was when things got weird. Lucy lives in Los Angeles, ninety miles north. Husband of Lucy lives in Vista, the town next to mine. </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Lucy asked if she could serve her husband a candlelight dinner in our backyard. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Question one: Why would anyone want a candlelight dinner in a stranger’s backyard?</i> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Lucy spent the afternoon in my kitchen preparing what smelled like a fabulous meal. She covered an old, </span>dilapidated<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> table with white cloth and set it </span>with<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span>wine,<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> roses, and a teddybear. Then she slipped into a low cut dress and cork platform shoes and set off to get husband of Lucy. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Kellie sent a text after her massage asking for a Lucy update.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Question two: Why aren’t they doing this where they live?</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Lucy and husband </span>returned<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> at about 6 p.m. and retreated to the backyard for dinner and drinks. It was a brief dinner. They abandoned the table and sprinted to the bedroom. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Question three: Have they no modesty?</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Our second floor loft, my man-cave, sits directly across from the bedroom occupied by Lucy and husband. I abandoned my den to escape the </span>muffled moans and rhythmic<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> banging of the our four-post metal bed against the guest room wall. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The Iranians cooked dinner for me. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Kellie </span>texted<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> me from her Arizona hot tub to see how things were going. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Question four: Will these stains ever come out?</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I spent Saturday scrubbing sheets with Triple-Acting SHOUT</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> and Oxi-Clea</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">n to get</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> the room ready for our next guest, Stephanie. She's coming here for a conference. At the last minute, a male "coworker" was invited to attend the same conference, and Stephanie asked if </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">he</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> could stay with her. This ought to be interesting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Just before she headed out to watch an Arizona sunset, Kellie called to remind me to take the garbage pails to the curb.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Now, is there anyone who doesn't understand why I call this blog Living in Kellie's World?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"></span>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-64226200049641322782014-02-10T07:24:00.000-08:002014-02-10T21:26:53.295-08:00The Many Faces Of Kellie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I tried finding my wife’s condition in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, but <i>Kellieness</i> is not a generally accepted diagnosis. Dissociative identity disorder, more commonly known as multiple personality disorder, was the closest match I could find after ruling out the only other likely candidates, bipolar disorder or schizophrenia.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">The first two of her alter egos I encountered were Low Blood Sugar Kellie and Tired Kellie. If not handled properly, these two personalities can rapidly dissociate into a myriad of other characters. I needed several years in residence before I earned my home degree in Kellie Psychology and mastered the techniques to identify and treat the underlying pathology. My choice of the word <i>treat</i> instead of the word <i>cure</i> is a deliberate one; you don’t cure <i>Kellieness</i>, you simply learn to live with it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Low Blood Sugar Kellie needs to eat, and Tired Kellie needs to nap. You might think it’s easy to discriminate between the two, but it takes years of clinical practice to learn how to perform the differential diagnosis. What makes the evaluation so difficult is that the Kellie doesn’t recognize which personality is in control and both conditions often manifest themselves as Cranky Kellie. It’s easy to mistake Cranky Kellie for someone who’s just being unreasonable – a big mistake. Arguing with Cranky Kellie quickly leads to the appearance of Bitchy Kellie, often with her friend Angry Kellie; and Angry Kellie is scary.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Eventually I learned that the time of day was often a clue to which personality reigned. Morning crankiness is almost always a low blood sugar problem. Past noon, the appearance of any strange characters usually means it’s nappy-time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Treatment for Tired Kellie is rather simple; shuffle her off to bed for an hour or two and the problem is solved, at least temporarily. Dealing with Low Blood Sugar Kellie can be tricky. Early in our marriage, I frequently made the mistake of asking Low Blood Sugar Kellie what she wanted to eat. If her glucose levels were dangerously low, the inquiry immediately manifested a new personality – Indecisive Kellie – a babbling, incoherent woman who can only whine, “I don’t know, just feed me.” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’ve long since learned to deal with almost all the Kellies; Angry Kellie is still scares me. But managing her cast of characters is like playing whack-a-mole. For the past ten years I’ve been living with Vacation Kellie, a pleasant woman who insists on referring to vacations as travel. She thinks vacations are tawdry and common whereas travel is noble and refined. Over time, Travel Kellie has morphed into Cruise Kellie. Treatment for Cruise Kellie is simple but expensive, sometimes requiring six or more ocean voyages per year. On the positive side, Cruise Kellie often asks her hot friend Horny Kellie to join us, usually in the late afternoon after consuming several shipboard cocktails. I don’t mind administering Horny Kellie’s medication, though she sometimes complains that it makes her gag. Did I go too far?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">------------------------------------------------------------------------ </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/person-painting-with-paint-3d-render-illustration-photo-p233661">Post mage courtesy of Renjith Krishnan/ FreeDigitalPhotos.net.</a></span></i><br />
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Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-76777473090328959282014-02-02T09:29:00.000-08:002014-11-10T01:17:53.994-08:00Marriage Risk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ_DkjYL7BKn7-JOCGg_IcSjFT-fpFl8rMB2Iu3omHlgDUY1dTTQ7hWroKziGWkn6AybLqg7damttAO3RbBj8GqDHQql8UskJ-sPitjvTKuAAuQR-WoMROLgshyvVdSDZihypTeGiigxjB/s1600/722587_95671936.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ_DkjYL7BKn7-JOCGg_IcSjFT-fpFl8rMB2Iu3omHlgDUY1dTTQ7hWroKziGWkn6AybLqg7damttAO3RbBj8GqDHQql8UskJ-sPitjvTKuAAuQR-WoMROLgshyvVdSDZihypTeGiigxjB/s1600/722587_95671936.jpg" height="200" width="198" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Kellie claims that marriage extends a man's life expectancy but reduces a woman's. I didn’t believe her and needed only minutes to prover her wrong, again. Studies show that married women outlive their single counterparts too. I'm tired of always being right.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">On my way to intellectual triumph, I discovered a couple of things about married partners that do affect longevity. </span><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.health.harvard.edu/newsletters/Harvard_Mens_Health_Watch/2010/July/marriage-and-mens-health" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Research from the 1980s</a><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">suggests that men married to less educated women have a lower risk of coronary heart disease than men married to women with more education, which explains why <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0045810/">gentlemen prefer blondes</a>. My first wife never went to college and Kellie never finished. Kellie arrived for class one day at Sacramento State, couldn’t find a parking space, and since it was raining, said, "Screw it," went home and never returned. Based upon the educational history of the two wives I've had so far, I should live a long time. That’s if Kellie doesn't kill me for writing this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">The <a href="http://www.demogr.mpg.de/en/news_press/press_releases_1916/marriage_and_life_expectancy_1813.htm">age difference</a> between a husband and wife also affects their health, but the effect is asymmetric. A man married to a woman 17 years his senior faces a 50% higher risk of dying than a man married to a woman 17 years his junior. For women, the relationship is more complicated. They minimize their mortality risk by marrying men whose age differs from their's by no more than one year. As the difference between a woman's age and her husband's increases, so does her risk of death, and the risk is larger if she marries a younger man. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL3Lq2o9zM7U1p2GIwSRL5D21_yhgt7MGIfn90ewOu1VXku0zE_kPuic1hXw9PUyYVUbKNx45jdpDvSjL3ahbMaCRRItRVTtU9t6DO0SYOhQbmbtm-ciZX4DIeOOmVILwpMld9CXa6NjHm/s1600/1813_Figure1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL3Lq2o9zM7U1p2GIwSRL5D21_yhgt7MGIfn90ewOu1VXku0zE_kPuic1hXw9PUyYVUbKNx45jdpDvSjL3ahbMaCRRItRVTtU9t6DO0SYOhQbmbtm-ciZX4DIeOOmVILwpMld9CXa6NjHm/s1600/1813_Figure1.jpg" height="448" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Figure courtesy of <a href="http://www.demogr.mpg.de/en/news_press/press_releases_1916/marriage_and_life_expectancy_1813.htm">MPIDR</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Most men get divorced and marry younger women, obviously for health reasons, but not me. Kellie is older than my first wife, increasing my mortality risk by ten percent, and again, possibly more after she reads this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Like many couples our age, Kellie and I have discussed death. She's never wanted life insurance, telling me, "Look at this body. This is my life insurance policy. I'll just get remarried." But after seventeen years of glorious, wedded bliss, any desire to remarry has been extinguished. "One marriage is enough,” declared Kellie. "Why would I ever do it again?” She’s much more amenable to life insurance now. I wonder if she’s worried about her assets depreciating.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">If I should die first, a likely possibility for reasons already discussed, I told Kellie to keep me on life support as long as my heart will beat so she can continue collecting my pension. She doesn't have to come and visit me if I’m a vegetable, and she should remarry if she wants to. I just don’t want her having sex with her new husband, boyfriend, boy toy, fling, or one-night-stand in front of my comatose body, a reasonable request; I think.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Kellie insisted that I remain single, chaste even, if she died before me, but I’m the marrying type and can’t envision myself remaining single. I need someone to torment. She relented and said I could remarry, providing I kept her picture on my nightstand. As a courtesy to my new wife, Kellie said I could put her picture facedown while having sex. I know the younger, future Mrs. Cereola will appreciate that concession.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Kellie is back in college now, taking French, threatening my cardiovascular health. I can feel my arteries clogging, and that pain in my chest makes it difficult to believe that married men live longer than single men. Maybe it just feels that way.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"></span>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-34758138283645664692014-01-29T17:51:00.000-08:002014-02-01T22:08:01.024-08:00Big Brain, Little Brain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIph9nyWAGPIKJudGhm_fu6OzmuPBMRLqZr5fveW9H_5bJj0B41tGj4VZgCqmXntGuY8mkf9OkKOdMs7NLdWcEivDgxZTVSkHYI4j9IQfFqmTYT-9a8RoTKB0c5Fcz5IUYqvysabgWpl1F/s1600/6096667988_14a3f81518.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIph9nyWAGPIKJudGhm_fu6OzmuPBMRLqZr5fveW9H_5bJj0B41tGj4VZgCqmXntGuY8mkf9OkKOdMs7NLdWcEivDgxZTVSkHYI4j9IQfFqmTYT-9a8RoTKB0c5Fcz5IUYqvysabgWpl1F/s1600/6096667988_14a3f81518.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A University of California, Santa Barbara, study published in the New England Journal of Medicine found that some men have an enlarged pelvic splanchnic ganglion, just big enough to be classified as a second, albeit much smaller, brain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Researchers were conducting functional MRI tests on a group of 25 undergraduate men to determine why decision making in some males becomes so impaired in the presence of women. Test subjects were shown images of women in a variety of attire, anything from tight fitting sweaters to string bikinis, along with a few bare breasts and a picture of <a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/gossip/justin-bieber-arrest-mocked-late-night-hosts-article-1.1590143">Justin Bieber</a> as a control. According to study leader doctor Peter Johnson, the results were unambiguous. All subjects displayed a dramatic drop in blood flow to the frontal lobe, the region of the brain responsible of planning, decision making, and problem solving. Before continuing the research to find where the missing blood went, a few men who reacted to the Justin Bieber pictures were removed from the study. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Researchers were helped in their search for the missing blood flow by Paleontologists who have long known “that some dinosaurs had a ganglion in the pelvis, which was so large…as almost to deserve the title of second brain.”* Johnson speculated that since mammals and dinosaurs shared a common ancestor 310 million years ago during the late Carboniferous Period, humans might have retained a neurophysiology similar to dinosaurs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Johnson’s team repeated their experiment, focusing on the pelvic splanchnic ganglion. (<i>Splanchnic</i> is pronounced like spank, with the letter ‘L’ inserted after the 'P' [splaŋk-nik].) They were not surprised to discover that the ganglion was engorged with blood, accounting for the deficit upstairs. Unfortunately, the pelvic splanchnic ganglion in humans is much smaller than in dinosaurs, and the little brain is unable to make up for the lost cognitive function of the big brain. “The little brain is barely in control of the genitals,” said Johnson.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“We should have expected this result all along,” Johnson explained. “We had ample field evidence that men suffer cognitive collapse in proximity of women. A quick Google search reveals a plethora of natural clinical trials.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In 1995, actor Hugh Grant, while dating, arguably, the most beautiful woman in the world, actress Elizabeth Hurley, was observed soliciting a Los Angles prostitute and caught a few minutes later on a residential street where the two were engaged in a lewd act. A short time after his arrest, <a href="https://www.blogger.com/Tonight%20Show%20video:%20www.youtube.com/watch?v=vrJ2jc6qfzA">Grant appeared on the Tonight Show</a> where he attempted to explain his behavior to host Jay Leno, ruling out stress, fatigue, loneliness, or a fall down the stairs as a child as possible explanations. According to Johnson, Grant suffered an acute pelvic splanchnic ganglion induce psychosis, robbing his frontal lobe of blood and making him behave like a rutting Tyrannosaurus rex .</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In a more severe case, Danny Bonaduce, former child star on the 1970s sitcom <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0065333/">The Partridge Family</a>, was arrested and charged with assaulting and robbing a transvestite prostitute in Phoenix. He later explained to police, “When I picked him up, I thought he was a girl.” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“It’s extremely rare,” said Johnson, “but sometimes blood flow to the optic nerve is affected too. Bonaduce may have an unusually large pelvic splanchnic ganglion.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">When asked if his team’s study would lead to any medical breakthroughs, Johnson replied, “I’m not sure how useful our study will be, but at least we’ve put to rest that old cliche that the little head thinks for the big head. It turns out that the little head doesn’t think at all.”</span><br />
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* Richard Dawkins, The Greatest Show On Earth: The Evidence for Evolution<br />
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Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-59085727192505746182014-01-28T09:22:00.000-08:002014-01-28T14:12:06.016-08:00Valentine's Day, Alone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Valentine's Day is approaching. By this time I'm usually obsessing over what gift to buy or where to celebrate, but not this year. Kellie is leaving me—for another woman—two other women to be precise. She and a couple of girlfriends are planning a trip to Sedona, Arizona, for a long weekend of hiking, hot tubs, and happy hour specials. Back home, the other abandoned men and I will have to console ourselves with hot wings at <a href="http://www.hooters.com/Home/Default.aspx">Hooters</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">I'm no romantic, and I'm perfectly content to be left alone on Valentine's Day. My only request was for Kellie block our <a href="https://www.airbnb.com/">Airbnb</a> calendar so we wouldn't have any houseguests while she's away. If you’re not familiar with Airbnb, it’s an online community where members can offer their spare rooms for rent. It’s an easy way to supplement your income, and it provides a handy excuse if any of the kids want move back home.<i> Yes dear, your old room is available, and it’s just forty-four dollars per night, but as a family member you get a ten percent discount</i>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">At first, Kellie was perfectly willing to block the dates, but she doesn’t like to pass up easy money, especially since my early retirement has reduced her free cash flow. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Do you remember those two French coeds who wanted to rent a room earlier this month but couldn’t because we already had a guest?” Kellie asked. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">How could I forget twenty-two year-old Juliette and her friend Hajar? I never actually met them or saw their pictures, but I conjured up quite the mental image. I wanted to evict our current guest to make room for them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“What happens if two young Swedish girls want to rent while I’m away but can't because you made me block the calendar?” Kellie asked. “Do you really want to pass up the opportunity to have a couple of young blondes in the house while I’m away?” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My wife can be incredibly persuasive at times. There was simply no arguing with her reasoning; her logic was flawless. I acquiesced to keeping our calendar open. Still, I was insulted that she wasn't the least bit concerned about leaving me to consort with two hot, young European girls. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"Honey, your so adorkable, and you’re just lucky that I like dorks," said Kellie, "but to a twenty-something you’re just a dirty old man."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Yes, but some women go for older men. What happens if they throw themselves at me and I can’t resist?”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Good luck with that. Besides, it would cost you a lot of money.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Once again, Kellie’s logic was impeccable. I already have one ex-wife and I’m not looking to charter a club. Maybe we could come to some mutually beneficial arrangement.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"What if I let you have Johnny Depp? Could I have the Swedish girls then?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"Yes," Kellie replied without a nanosecond of hesitation. "But I get to go first."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This is how we do Valentine's Day in Kellie's World.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Today's post is entered in Year Write's weekly writing </i>challenge.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"></span>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-63477101745632284662014-01-24T12:51:00.000-08:002017-03-14T16:27:18.979-07:00Science Is A Drag<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">What do extraterrestrials, cross dressing, (not to be confused with cross dressing extraterrestrials), antigravity, The Gulf oil spill, free energy, 9/11, Fukushima, a messiah complex, and the Bermuda Triangle all have in common? If you guessed my anti-radiation ray gun wielding neighbors, the Hutchisons, then give yourself a pat on the back; you’re a loyal reader of Living in Kellie’s World.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I’ve already written ad nauseam about John Hutchison’s efforts to save humanity from the Fukushima reactor accident by using a radiation neutralizing ray gun he built next to my vacation rental property, so today I am going to confine my remarks to John’s other proclivities. First up – cross dressing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Living on the bleeding edge of pseudoscience and technology must be stressful. To relieve the burden, like Dennis Rodman and J. Edgar Hoover before him, John will occasionally, or frequently, slip into something a little more comfortable and assume the persona of <a href="http://youtu.be/iU5vp8wamRI">CNN UFO reporter Karla Kniption</a> (the K is not silent). He’s like Superman in reverse except he turns into Lois Lane instead of Clark Kent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Before reading any further you must watch the video; it’s only 38 seconds long.</span>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">John’s been looking pretty haggard lately, as we all do with age, but I have to admit that Karla looks fabulous. The blonde </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">wig makes her look 10 years younger than him. And you have to admire those long, slender legs. The many years John spent in his anti-gravity lab obviously reduced the load on his thighs, keeping them lean and sexy. This is probably the best supporting evidence we have for the <a href="http://www.skepdic.com/hutchisonhoax.html">Hutchison Effect</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I'm not quite sure about his sense of style. He does have a flair for makeup; his lipstick matches his teddy perfectly. However, as my cousin Michele duly noted, someone needs to teach that man how to select appropriate footwear when rockin’ a teddy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">What do you think he’s using for breasts? They don’t have the proper jiggle factor. In an effort to help, I Googled <i>breasts for cross dressing</i>. I was a little hesitant to do so because I didn’t want that phrase in my NSA profile. At the top of the search results was a website called <i><a href="http://www.special-trade.eu/">Absolutely Special Trade</a></i>, located in Europe, of course, with a mind boggling selection of silicone breasts: <a href="http://www.special-trade.eu/silicone-breast-forms-breast-bras/aphrodite-super-realistic-breast-forms/aphrodite.php">Aphrodite Ultra</a>, <a href="http://www.special-trade.eu/silicone-breast-forms-breast-bras/transtorso-silicone-breasts-in-torso/femline-trans-torso.php">TransTorso</a>, <a href="http://www.special-trade.eu/store/boobs-curved/silicone-boobs-asymmetrical.php">Classic Curved</a>, <a href="http://www.special-trade.eu/amolux/silicone-breast-forms-ruby.php">Amolux Ruby</a> (they’re velvety soft) and Classic Velcro (I was afraid to look at the velcro model so I can't give you the link). I was partial to the Amolux Ruby pair, you know, because of their softness. I can just imagine how they…Umm, never mind. I’ll have to continue my research later. I’m sure John could also find some suitable footwear there too. He should check out the red patent leather <a href="http://www.special-trade.eu/store/oversizes-lady-shoes/pumps-court-shoes/peeptoe-pumps-patent-leather-glitter.php">Peeptoe Pumps</a>. They’d be bitchin’ with that flaming red teddy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I’ve spent too much time cross dressing–I mean writing about cross dressing–so I don’t have time deal with any of John's other interests right now. You can see more of Karla Kniption on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/karla.kniption?fref=ts">her Facebook page</a>. Now where’s that link to the fake boobie website? I have to get back to my research.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Other tales from the Hutchison Files:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2012/06/my-neighbors-have-ray-guns.html">My Neighbors Have Ray Guns</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2012/06/john-hutchisons-ray-guns-silenced.html">John Hutchison's Ray Guns Silenced</a> </i>(but not for long)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2013/12/john-hutchisons-ray-guns-redux.html">John Hutchison's Ray Guns Redux</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2014/01/a-problem-of-biblical-proportions.html">A Problem of Biblical Proportions</a></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I'm taking in a little weekend moonshine over at Yeah Write.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-1744438898271363152014-01-20T08:54:00.000-08:002014-11-10T01:23:06.438-08:00A Problem Of Biblical Proportions<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It’s bad enough when your vacation home sits next door to a man who believes he invented a combination ray gun and sound system that neutralizes radioactivity from the reactor accident in Fukushima, Japan. It's an entirely different problem when his wife claims that she and her husband are the descendants of Jesus and Mary Magdalene. I’ve written about my neighbor John Hutchison and his ray guns before; you can read about it <a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2012/06/my-neighbors-have-ray-guns.html">here</a>, <a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2012/06/john-hutchisons-ray-guns-silenced.html">here</a>, and <a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2013/12/john-hutchisons-ray-guns-redux.html">here</a>, but I recently discovered <a href="http://www.cosmic-token.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=659&p=22646&hilit=bloodline#p22646">this biblical gem</a> by his wife Nancy on a message board at the <a href="http://www.cosmic-token.com/">Cosmic Token</a>:</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"John's family is native American on his mother's side, and Scottish on his father's.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Both his father (and lineage) were Knights Templar.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My father's family was Knight's Templar.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And we both are on the bloodline of the the </span></i><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">[sic]</span></i><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> dude they call Jesus and Mary Magdalene."</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Holy crap! That’s a lot of blaspheme. I’m an atheist and even I wouldn’t engage in that much heresy. She apparently gets her dogma from <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Da_Vinci_Code">The Da Vinci Code</a></i>. If I’m not mistaken, the Vatican has yet to canonize Dan Brown’s novel.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">On the message boards, Nancy repeatedly refers to Christ as the dude they call Jesus. Why? According to Nancy, <i>Jesus</i> is <a href="http://www.cosmic-token.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=659&hilit=bloodline&start=3940">not his real name</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"The word 'Jesus' translates into 'Hail Zeus'.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">There is a reason the dude's name was changed.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And there are many things that were put into the 'Bible', that were not in the original documents.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The name change is just one of many of these changes. 'Quotes of what supposedly the Jesus dude said, those were added." </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’m sure the Jesus Dude is not too happy with the medieval scribes who put words in his mouth. You'll notice that I capitalized <i>Dude, </i>which seems appropriate when discussing the top Dude. I’m just glad Nancy has the original biblical documents to set us all straight. I wasted my time reading the King James version.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">John Hutchison isn't Nancy's only celestial coupling. Her first husband was a <a href="http://www.cosmic-token.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=1403&p=24364&hilit=noah#p24364">decedent of the Ark Dude</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>"before I married John, I was married to Lazarayn, an Armenian'</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>he used to speak about the Caucasian Mountains</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>that his people are direct descendants of Noah</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>that Noah's Ark is on Mount Ararat..used to be Armenia, now Turkey"</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I just have one question: Are they still called the <i>Caucasian</i> Mountains after the snow melts? Maybe she meant the Caucasus Mountains, but they're not in Turkey. Who knows, maybe the <a href="http://www.skepdic.com/hutchisonhoax.html">Hutchison Effect</a> can move mountains too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.cosmic-token.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=659&hilit=bloodline&start=3920">Elsewhere</a> on the Cosmic Token Nancy points out:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>"BTW--ever notice the crown of thorns on the Jesus dude as a Caduceus coil?"</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This requires some explanation since I doubt many people are familiar with a <a href="http://www.n-atlantis.com/caduceuscoil.htm">Caduceus coil</a>. Pictures might be helpful. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">A Caduceus coil is made by winding an electrical conductor, usually copper wire, around a core in pattern that allows current to flow in opposing directions. Looking at the pictures above I can see why Nancy believes that the crown of thorns resembles a Caduceus coil, but so what? Well, the pseudoscientific community attributes a variety of strange phenomena to the Caduceus coil, including levitation. Nancy didn’t explain the significance of a Caduceus crown, but I suspect she's trying to tell us something about one of the central mysteries of the Christian faith–the resurrection of Jesus. Pump enough electricity through a Caduceus crown and you could conceivably levitate a body into the stratosphere. With that much current flowing through the copper wiring it would certainly glow, producing a brilliant halo. This of course begs the question of how anyone generated electricity in the year 30 AD, but a divine lightening bolt easily solves that conundrum. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Several year ago, Nancy's husband participated in <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oWEPGTxjQnI">an effort to recreate the Ark of the Covenant</a>. Once it was complete he hooked it up to a transformer and delivered 50,000 volts of electricity. The Ark arced and spontaneously combusted, destroying his "<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0082971/quotes">radio for speaking to God</a>." </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The channel to heaven wasn't lost for long because Nancy is a </span><a href="http://www.cosmic-token.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=659&p=13597&hilit=god#p13597" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">consecrated conduit to the Almighty</a><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>"There is an intelligence that created this physical realm.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>I am a narcissist, and believe I am a conduit to that intelligence, 'the Creator','God' whatever you are comfortable calling 'it'. </i></span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Now whenever John wants to speak with God all he has to do is tune his wife's knobs to the right frequency. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br />You can visit John and Nancy's <a href="http://life-ray.org/">website</a> and hear for yourself just how noisy neutralizing radiation can be. The neighbors just want the Hutchisons to be quiet. With all Nancy's divine connections you would think she could shutdown the radiation remediation equipment and ask God to clean up the radioactivity.</span><br />
<br />Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-71803282366447973882014-01-13T18:34:00.000-08:002014-01-14T17:54:29.967-08:00Death Begins<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">At the age of 54, the day that I had been dreading for years had finally arrived. On Thursday, January 9, 2014, I discovered my first gray hair. I found it while examining my recently receding hairline. To be perfectly truthful, it's not the first gray hair on on my body, just the first gray hair on my scalp. Gray hairs sprouted elsewhere several years ago and have been migrating north from my nether regions ever since. I was initially quite concerned because those early white settlers were much more crinkly than the darker natives. I envisioned a future looking like a less intelligent Albert Einstein.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">I duly noted this major life event on my Facebook page, but my post didn't garner much sympathy from my less follicly fortunate friends and family, many of whom are younger, grayer and balder. Some even implied that I was lying, or worse, coloring my hair. But a different sort of chemistry is at work here. There's a rare piece of DNA floating through the family gene pool that's responsible for my portrait of Dorian Gray. Unfortunately, this tidbit of genetic code seems to be attached to the shortness gene—none of the carriers are taller than five-foot-six.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My sixteen year-old daughter was shocked and alarmed when she learned her daddy was experiencing "the change."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"Your not supposed to have gray hair, just mom. Why does hair turn gray anyway?" she asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I explained to my child that getting gray hair was just a normal part of the aging process, the onset of the inexorable decay that rapidly culminates in death. My reassuring words failed to comfort her. I tried to show her the offending hair so she could grasp the magnitude of my predicament, but I had trouble finding it again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I can sympathize and empathize with my daughter's shock and grief. An integral part of my identity is that I am—excuse me, was—the old guy with no gray and a hairline rooted like AstroTurf. Without my Samson like mane I'm just another short, chubby, graying, balding, old man. People will no longer stare at me in disbelieve when I tell them my age. I have become so accustomed to the permanence of my hair that it's hard to accept its demise. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I know it's ridiculous to let one single, little strand of gray hair redefine my self image. So I yanked it out–only to discover that it had a friend. I contemplated pulling that one out, too, but I decided this was likely a loosing battle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Kellie is relieved that the gray day has arrived, telling me that I can now stop obsessing over gray hairs. I thought she knew me better than that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Just so you don't think I'm blowing this out of proportion, below is a picture taken earlier today. I considered adding a PayPal Donate Now button so my readers could help fund my treatment, but that would be silly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRNKYbcIu276U_lOPXC-fH55Yn9dZx-Ttmpuc-TxpY9i0umCAVebMbW0_g65PV22aliAKZHVhVnh3JmpCR1IxAvFFBDqQHVZYnWDPsC-qPdtZrA17MTfgOJjusF6QJTRqjcknm3BzQLrsV/s1600/Gray+Hair+Head+Shot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRNKYbcIu276U_lOPXC-fH55Yn9dZx-Ttmpuc-TxpY9i0umCAVebMbW0_g65PV22aliAKZHVhVnh3JmpCR1IxAvFFBDqQHVZYnWDPsC-qPdtZrA17MTfgOJjusF6QJTRqjcknm3BzQLrsV/s640/Gray+Hair+Head+Shot.jpg" width="489" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Face of Death</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Do you blog? Then how come you're not sharing your stories at Yeah Write?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"></span>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-62343065480304954702013-12-29T16:53:00.000-08:002013-12-30T21:51:11.236-08:00A New Year's Day Surprise<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc-pLXF5gRC2M9KrgNPNbQh5cSrj3IE_7phkStujtTQT27v1RZ96_5n5J_JyboWJ8ss9ZVQyZvjquDujzDWXxFKWjZC53FFaVGu8knSUNI54c8-rSuBwPm2xH0Cv3vn8eKhXqCfheLFG8D/s1600/door+lock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc-pLXF5gRC2M9KrgNPNbQh5cSrj3IE_7phkStujtTQT27v1RZ96_5n5J_JyboWJ8ss9ZVQyZvjquDujzDWXxFKWjZC53FFaVGu8knSUNI54c8-rSuBwPm2xH0Cv3vn8eKhXqCfheLFG8D/s200/door+lock.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Kellie doesn’t allow sexy time to happen unless the bedroom door is locked. Period. Unfortunately, for me, the bedroom door on our Cannes apartment was lacking the required lock. I improvised by wedging a beach umbrella under the door handle, propped up by a couple of magazines and copy of <i>Rick Steves’ France</i>, the 2011 edition with the foldout color map.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">With the door properly barred, Kellie granted permission for the festivities to begin. I thought it was all just a waste of time (barring the door, not the festivities). There was little chance our 16 year-old daughter would barge in on us, but Kellie remains adamant about the whole door locking business ever since a minor incident 11 years ago.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It was New Year’s day, and despite drinking and partying the night before, we woke up at seven in the morning. Too early to get out of bed, Kellie and I decided to consummate the new year. I didn’t bother locking the bedroom door since our </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">5 year-old daughter</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Kyra couldn’t have possibly been awake after staying up and partying as late as the adults, minus the drinking, of course. There was little chance that she would barge in on us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">After starting the new year with a bang, Kellie realized that someone was downstairs watching TV. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“See, she’s awake and you didn’t lock the door,” Kellie scolded me. “She could have seen us.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Kellie called Kyra. As our daughter enter our room, Kellie asked how long she had been awake.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Awhile,” Kyra answered. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Why didn’t you come in?” Kellie asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“I did,” replied Kyra. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Why didn’t you say anything?” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Daddy was on top of you.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Say something to your daughter,” Kellie demanded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Mommy and daddy were just wrestling,” I explained. That should have been sufficient to satisfy any five year-old, but it wasn’t.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“No, I don’t think so,” Kyra answered matter-of-factly. “I think you were humping.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">How a 5 year-old recognizes humping had me stumped, but she did have a dog, a couple cats and three older siblings. I’m not sure who gets credit for the biology lesson. And although she used the word <i>humping</i> in the proper context, I doubted she fully grasped the mechanics of the act.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Five year-olds have a short attention span and we steered the conversation to more appropriate topics. Kellie had an itch and asked Kyra to scratch her back. When Kyra was through she asked if I’d like my back scratched, also. I declined her offer, and where a simple no thank you would have sufficed, I decided to poke an already irritated wife with an oblique comment that should have sailed over my daughter’s head.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“No thanks, Kyra. Daddy got his itch scratched earlier.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In hindsight, I should have recognized that a five year-old who knows how to use the word <i>humping</i> might also get adult innuendoes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Oh yeah,” Kyra replied, “where was your itch, on your penis?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">First, it was clear that my daughter completely understood the mechanics of humping. Second, her language comprehension skills were outstanding, and third, I had just been burned by a kindergartener. I’m just thankful that she used the proper anatomical terminology. Given the number euphemisms for male genitalia, and her obvious language proficiency, she had many other options. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Further discussion seemed pointless. It was time to get out of bed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Kyra has no recollection of the event, but the episode is etched into Kellie’s memory. Since then, we always lock the door. Period.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"></span>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-12092326608598672062013-12-15T15:34:00.000-08:002013-12-16T21:57:25.104-08:00Breasts To Die For<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A German study published in the New England Journal of Medicine reported that staring at women's breasts improves men's health. According to the research, men who stared at woman’s breasts had a reduced risk of heart disease and better cardiovascular health.</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/KgD3dBDdpqE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Before rushing out to go breast watching, recognize that the news report did not explain how to properly administer an ocular breast therapy regimen Doing it incorrectly could have serious negative health effects. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Consider all the questions the report leaves unanswered:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Should the breasts be observed live or will pictures suffice? I hope it's the latter. Men can then experiment with a variety of treatment options just by surfing the internet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Do the breasts have to be all natural or are surgically enhanced breasts equally effective? This just raises the whole ugly saline or silicone debate again? (Note: Los Angeleno males could be the healthiest men in the country.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Do we need bare naked ladies or will fully covered sweater puppies suffice? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Should the breasts be supported or untethered? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Which brassiere is works best: a Playtex bra that lifts and separates or one that produces maximum cleavage? This is a question I can answer. Since Kellie’s Victoria’s Secret catalog just arrived, I’ll just strap on my blood pressure cuff, thumb through to push-up bra section and check my cardiovascular response. I may not even need the blood pressure monitor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">If looking is therapeutic, is touching even more effective? What about motor boating, or will that cause an overdose? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The biggest question, of course, is about size. What size breasts are most efficacious? This is a crucial question. I don’t want to waste time staring at the wrong breasts. Should I look at a lot of smaller breasts or will one glance at Guinness Book world record holder <a href="http://s405.photobucket.com/user/tanGo3h/media/annie-hawkins-turner.jpg.html">Anne Hawkins-Turner</a> inoculate me for life?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">To answer the size question, I plotted the percentage of women with a D cup or larger versus male life expectancy for selected European countries.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBu1IvBiwZshZrMDkZpAM85h1L80CMv6sJ_oBUfgGWJ7CEpXSF7LgCJKoTtreAErKRl4A7FBCgoQi8Kx3jvfmRgu2MqQtgj80QuM1leNPk0JR8pZw-o2MPY1yp0jyvXUIm-Qvc-okUVmaa/s1600/Breast+Graph.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="449" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBu1IvBiwZshZrMDkZpAM85h1L80CMv6sJ_oBUfgGWJ7CEpXSF7LgCJKoTtreAErKRl4A7FBCgoQi8Kx3jvfmRgu2MqQtgj80QuM1leNPk0JR8pZw-o2MPY1yp0jyvXUIm-Qvc-okUVmaa/s640/Breast+Graph.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Men live longer in countries where females have smaller breasts. Extrapolating to the limit, men would live forever in a country populated by flat-chested women – at least it might feel like an eternity. I'd be willing to give up a few years to live in Denmark.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">You may have noticed that I didn't include the U.S. on the plot. That’s because I couldn't find data for the percentage of U.S. women sporting D racks or larger. I did, however, discover that the average American cup size is now a humongous 34DD, thanks to the more than 300,000 breast augmentations performed annually in the U.S. Unsurprisingly, male life expectancy here a measly 76 years.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I now understand why more and more women are seeking surgery in the unrelenting pursuit for larger and larger breasts. They are trying to eliminate the male species. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">I can't explain it yet, but I know it's connected to the </span><a href="http://articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2013-04-03/science/38247352_1_genes-chromosome-humans" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">vanishing Y chromosome</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> that's threatening the humans race with parthenogenesis in a mere 5 million years, but that’s a story for another post. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Kellie added some extra mammary mass shortly after we met 19 years ago, and my health has steadily deteriorated ever since. I asked her if she was trying to kill me. She asked if my new life insurance policy had taken effect yet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-5222337347909345942013-12-11T22:27:00.000-08:002013-12-12T07:49:51.661-08:00John Hutchison's Ray Guns Redux<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLz4J64f8ks4FLc4bG5MvpwV5PBuiKdQzEpj3XU1jnyaDj6lgCjEcnTFOHZ1qM2agUjgULTe30t1R3VNjUhX6lkL_ToUYxRO2rJWEtXduVadg3EerAG87cCiBbWEIT3ksAAOljIib_ce82/s1600/PICT0031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLz4J64f8ks4FLc4bG5MvpwV5PBuiKdQzEpj3XU1jnyaDj6lgCjEcnTFOHZ1qM2agUjgULTe30t1R3VNjUhX6lkL_ToUYxRO2rJWEtXduVadg3EerAG87cCiBbWEIT3ksAAOljIib_ce82/s200/PICT0031.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Ray Gun</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Kellie is back home in Oceanside, California, and I’m alone in Gold Beach, Oregon, trying to quell my neighbor’s ray guns. Since they first showed up next to our vacation rental property with their ray guns mounted on top of an old, white sheriff’s bus, they have been busy establishing a more permanent setup. They are remodeling their building, formally a small storage facility, into a laboratory with personal living quarters for self proclaimed scientist John Hutchison and his lovely wife Nancy. It looks like they are spending a good deal of money. I never knew crazy was so lucrative. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx08MXyUcr7uOzZAuq96LsF-aMrjXw2_mleLyWoi991N3Z0GnZBhbabFjT8u4tgnlQnP4nbT45a2spmoDbuRCMFMJ4ZhRWpmM79bVizKEewJH3i-6ojyB8L7hW_QmFEKaTA9hIgW4jSmWc/s1600/Tower+4+small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx08MXyUcr7uOzZAuq96LsF-aMrjXw2_mleLyWoi991N3Z0GnZBhbabFjT8u4tgnlQnP4nbT45a2spmoDbuRCMFMJ4ZhRWpmM79bVizKEewJH3i-6ojyB8L7hW_QmFEKaTA9hIgW4jSmWc/s200/Tower+4+small.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Ray Gun's New Home</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">For those of you who are unfamiliar with John Hutchison and are too lazy to read my <a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2012/06/my-neighbors-have-ray-guns.html">previous post</a>, John claims to have discovered a variety of physical phenomena, which he understandably calls the Hutchison Effect. The Hutchison Effect can counteract gravity, neutralize radioactivity and provide free energy. Oh, I almost forgot, it was also responsible for cleaning the Gulf of Mexico after the Mercado oil spill. As a bonus, his radioactivity neutralizing ray gun also improves the weather. It’s because of it’s ability to control the weather that he refuses to publish the precise details about how his ray gun technology works. They are using the ray gun to rid the Pacific Ocean of radioactivity released from the “extinction level event” generated by the nuclear reactor accident in Fukushima, Japan.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I shit you not, look it up, but my neighbors have formed an Oregon non-profit corporation called <a href="http://life-ray.org/">Life Ray</a> (get it). Oregon should change their license plate motto from <i>We Love Dreamers</i> to <i>We Love Those With Diminished Mental Capacity</i>. I wanted to move to Oregon, I love it there, but I'm staying in California; at least I understand the SoCal psychosis.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">According to the great scientist’s wife, Nancy:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Life Ray will use technology that converts radioactive materials into inert elements. The theory underlying the technology is that all matter is energy that pulsates. Radioactive elements vibrate at a distorted frequency as they are trying to stabilize. Technology can supply the pulsations that radioactive materials need to stabilize. The technology used by Life Ray utilizes a computer that outputs vibrational tones along a speaker wire. The tones are then fed into vacuum radio tube radio frequency generators and amplifiers. The wire carries the signals to interferometers and an amplifier. The signals transmute radioactive elements into inert elements which are harmless.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">If you don’t have a degree in physics, like I do, let me explain what Nancy is saying - it’s bullshit. The vibrational tones she mentions are usually mixed with music, frequently The Beatles. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away / Now it looks as though they’re here to stay / Oh, I believe in yesterday”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">They have the bass turned up so high that no matter what they play, it penetrates your bones. I want to punch somebody. It takes a bottle of wine a day just to calm me down (which doesn’t seem to be working at the moment).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">All of this would be so fucking funny if were happening to you, but it’s not. It’s happening to me and I’m fucking pissed. Normally I’d say I’m F%@%#$& pissed, but I’m too fucking pissed to redact the fucking expletives.</span><br />
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Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-4660219055201087002013-12-08T12:43:00.000-08:002014-06-27T12:18:34.103-07:00Binge, Distracted By Breasts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiebwOHTJVCwzF07WQNeupeIjSzGrkqzbqO8gOdNLny6ENNKgCeTtU_nQYbS37U-2tSz1jy33ZZ0-QOIxZlabNsWtULxYe8yVjXPbE9r9kn-l78q-YRgxycfEjo_XLWgd9txtAhKUqbE8ZA/s1600/books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiebwOHTJVCwzF07WQNeupeIjSzGrkqzbqO8gOdNLny6ENNKgCeTtU_nQYbS37U-2tSz1jy33ZZ0-QOIxZlabNsWtULxYe8yVjXPbE9r9kn-l78q-YRgxycfEjo_XLWgd9txtAhKUqbE8ZA/s200/books.jpg" height="128" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’ve gone off on a binge, a reading binge, which has effectively starved me of any time for writing. It started when I offered to do some research on Daniel Kahneman’s and Amos Tversky’s prospect theory for my friend David Marquet, a retired submarine captain and author of the book <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00AFPVP0Y/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B00AFPVP0Y&linkCode=as2&tag=theda01-20">Turn The Ship Around</a></i>. When I discovered that I had online access to academic journals using Kellie’s community college account, I spent days looking up and reading all manner of papers related to the theory because that’s what we obsessive-compulsive types do when we fixate on something. Subsequently, I decided it would be worth reading Kahneman’s book <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00555X8OA/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B00555X8OA&linkCode=as2&tag=theda01-20">Thinking, Fast and Slow</a></i>. This forced me to put aside the other two books I was reading, Jared Diamond’s <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0143124404/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0143124404&linkCode=as2&tag=theda01-20"><i>The World Until Yesterday:What Can We Learn from Traditional Societies?</i></a> and E.F. Schumacher’s <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0061997765/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0061997765&linkCode=as2&tag=theda01-20">Small Is Beautiful: Economics as if People Mattered</a></i>. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhInboReMlbf1Wah6C8Yshx1a_1mn-0eAogr9wQxKxY1m9Pb6puHgyLWfob56FnODE8eON8XtwqtEvd2X8P3Oj1W0E5haiMoLtpV9Z4dk3MdE6xEKfnDbva3zE-FkbIKQ42P4sA3iBiOIiI/s1600/plane-silhouette-1414861-m.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhInboReMlbf1Wah6C8Yshx1a_1mn-0eAogr9wQxKxY1m9Pb6puHgyLWfob56FnODE8eON8XtwqtEvd2X8P3Oj1W0E5haiMoLtpV9Z4dk3MdE6xEKfnDbva3zE-FkbIKQ42P4sA3iBiOIiI/s200/plane-silhouette-1414861-m.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Then one morning I came across an <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/11/06/us/faa-toughens-pilot-training-rules.html?_r=0">article</a> in the New York Times about the 2009 crash of Continental Connection Flight 3407. That got me thinking about an incident David described in his book where one of his sailors made a serious mistake while connecting the ship to electrical power from shore. I needed to know more about the plane crash to understand the similarities, so I read the National Transportation Safety Board’s 299-page aircraft <a href="http://www.ntsb.gov/doclib/reports/2010/aar1001.pdf">accident report</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The accident was attributed to pilot error. But why do skilled professionals, and everyone else for that matter, make mistakes? To answer that question, I picked up <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000SEJ89W/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B000SEJ89W&linkCode=as2&tag=theda01-20">Human Error</a></i>, an excellent but dense work by James Reason. It was more like a book length academic journal article rather than the typical trade paper fare. Of course, this forced me to go back and reread portions of several other books: <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0035QMS5Q/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B0035QMS5Q&linkCode=as2&tag=theda01-20">How We Decide</a></i> by Jonah Lehrer, <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B001S59CNC/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B001S59CNC&linkCode=as2&tag=theda01-20">Why We Make Mistakes</a></i> by Joseph T. Hallinan and <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/search/ref=as_li_qf_sp_sr_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&index=aps&keywords=predictablly%20irrational&linkCode=as2&tag=theda01-20">Predictably Irrational</a></i> by Dan Ariely. The end result of all this reading was that I began to appreciate the theoretical basis for the actions David took in response to the mistake made by his sailor. Right now I’m about 870 words into an unfinished article for David’s <a href="http://davidmarquet.com/">Leader-Leader</a> blog.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Interspersed with all the above reading, I’ve been doing some research for my other blog, <a href="http://solarpowerjoe.com/">Solar Power Joe</a>, on why solar power and other distributed generating technologies will <a href="http://www.eei.org/ourissues/finance/Documents/disruptivechallenges.pdf">destroy the traditional utility company business model</a>. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf3T8EFBOMiz8vyDLZE5H5T_N9vCi-BCS89F5PACphGPWrr7ZaP3BEhGm1ueMoQLE27Wo91ZCrX-h9ff8YUHTiEMBWxAmA0IhTGkyhIR24W5SsWW3elWdQn7of9LpJyp4sXJ2QIKDQLyey/s1600/73624_5751.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf3T8EFBOMiz8vyDLZE5H5T_N9vCi-BCS89F5PACphGPWrr7ZaP3BEhGm1ueMoQLE27Wo91ZCrX-h9ff8YUHTiEMBWxAmA0IhTGkyhIR24W5SsWW3elWdQn7of9LpJyp4sXJ2QIKDQLyey/s200/73624_5751.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Eventually, I was distracted by an <a href="http://www.examiner.com/article/can-staring-at-breasts-really-help-the-heart">article</a> about the effect of women’s breasts on men’s health. <a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2013/07/excuse-me-miss-are-you-ovulating.html">Explaining cutting edge science</a> to the masses is my forte, and I just knew I had to write a post on the subject. It was nearly complete when my <a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2012/06/my-neighbors-have-ray-guns.html">neighbor with ray guns</a> moved his weapon closer my vacation rental property and started scaring off my guests again. He claims his ray gun neutralizes radioactivity and improves the weathers. That sent me on a 15-hour car ride from San Diego to Oregon where I’m now being subjected to a low frequency <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ns-ulZWo2JE">acoustic version of Chinese water torture</a>. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXhB-C88XBtCwZvJNI-yL7-w0jenkw3iPojw-IP91tdV7fdUsmXSFWUJtRkk2CMqEfW-vk8z0-oyRcyjSkk1QrDQY1mCOHXKVw2dFoABiZNV8UdnRylWj1QbqOqrHZclw10dF3VGM-QvmO/s1600/PICT0031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXhB-C88XBtCwZvJNI-yL7-w0jenkw3iPojw-IP91tdV7fdUsmXSFWUJtRkk2CMqEfW-vk8z0-oyRcyjSkk1QrDQY1mCOHXKVw2dFoABiZNV8UdnRylWj1QbqOqrHZclw10dF3VGM-QvmO/s200/PICT0031.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Once I finish dealing with</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hEL3M0QkSM" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">crazy</a><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">,</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> I should be able to get back to writing posts for both my blogs. I have several drafts in progress, some more complete than others. Here are just a few of the working titles:</span><br />
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<li><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Disruptive Power</span></i></li>
<li><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We All Make Mistakes</span></i></li>
<li><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Doggie Butt Floss</span></i></li>
<li><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’m Not Gay (Not That That Would Be Bad)</span></i></li>
<li><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Breasts To Die For</span></i></li>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">I just thought you should know why I haven't been writing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">-----------------------------------------------------------------------</span>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-46578259268315156042013-11-11T09:17:00.000-08:002013-11-11T21:32:44.606-08:00Foot Orgasm - A Dutch Treat<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSnU7IvErg4Xa1U-Lu2Z4Vjdc9jL0mc9vR2az6LNLfj5l3iqmwu02ioxB1rMUCTV0cMWQDraDgEWbjCNAk-Z_twqGBsmUfGqilB7aFIvZmGvb-tKjq8RSiAloL7NkNMRbuG8TkcM796R6z/s1600/7370580240_a61913db72_q.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSnU7IvErg4Xa1U-Lu2Z4Vjdc9jL0mc9vR2az6LNLfj5l3iqmwu02ioxB1rMUCTV0cMWQDraDgEWbjCNAk-Z_twqGBsmUfGqilB7aFIvZmGvb-tKjq8RSiAloL7NkNMRbuG8TkcM796R6z/s200/7370580240_a61913db72_q.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/philleara/">Photo Credit: Philip Leara</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">By now I probably have the husbands out there thoroughly confused. First I said that doing housework was the key to getting <a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2012/06/the-secret-to-having-more-sex-with-your.html">more sex</a>, and then I said that doing <a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2013/09/less-housework-more-sex.html">less housework</a> was the way to go. From the feedback I've received it's obvious that neither strategy is particularly effective, which begs the question: Is there any sure fire way for a husband to put his wife in the mood? Fortunately, there is one aphrodisiac that never fails. It's called a cruise ship. There's something about undulating on the high seas that brings out a woman's inner <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jenna_Jameson">Jenna Jameson</a>. </span><span style="font-size: large;">That's why in less than two weeks Kellie and I will be departing for our <a href="http://www.royalcaribbean.com/findacruise/cruiseDetails/itineraryAndPricing.do?&packageCode=BR07W123&sailDate=1131116&cruiseType=CO">sixth cruise</a> this year. </span><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For the few of you who work for stingy employers whose corporate policies don't allow six vacations per year, there is one last thing you can try. Give your wife a foot massage. This approach isn't based upon the unproven assumption that sweet, romantic gestures will put your wife in an amorous mood; there's modern, cutting-edge, medical science behind this recommendation. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">If you recall from your high school biology class, the sensory nerves from a woman's feet join the spinal cord at about the same level as the nerves from her genitals, and the regions of the brain that process sensory signals from these two areas are adjacent to one another. Once you get those foot synapses firing there's a good chance of stimulating the adjoining area that controls her vajayjay. This could explain why some women like to have their toes sucked. </span><br />
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Rubbing her feet is a stealthy maneuver, too. If you were to, say, place your hand on her inner thigh, you'd immediately give away your intent and she'd likely tell you that she's not in the mood. A foot massage, on the other hand, is about as far away from her erogenous zone as you can physically get, but neurologically speaking you're sliding into second base.</span><br />
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If you think this idea is a bit far fetched, consider the story of a 55 year-old Dutch woman who went to her doctor with an unusual complaint. She was having multiple unwanted <a href="http://www.foot-orgasm-syndrome.com/">orgasms that originated in her left foot</a>. (I'm not sure why this is even considered a problem. If men were so afflicted we'd be hopping around like mad, one-legged kangaroos.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">Be careful where you place</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">the electrodes. Photo credit:</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.massager-machines-and-more.com/tens-unit-muscle-stimulator-460.asp#"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">Massager Machines & More</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">To study her condition, researches attached a transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation (TENS) unit to her left foot. Turing on the voltage produced an instantaneous orgasm that shot up her leg to her vajayjay. When they placed electrodes next to her promised land, it produced an immediate orgasm that traveled back down to her toes. (Sounds like a fun research facility.) Her doctors surmised that her problem was caused by some crossed nerve signals and a strategically placed spinal anesthetic <a href="http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/jsm.12217/abstract">cured the problem</a>.</span><br />
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I'm a man of science and I like to perform my own experiments. I still have a TENS unit that my doctor gave me for pain relief when I had <a href="http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/frozen-shoulder/DS00416">adhesive capsulitis</a> in my left shoulder. Over breakfast, I explained the Dutch woman's orgasmic condition to Kellie and asked her if she wanted to explore the frontiers of medical science. She told me it sounded like something we should try on a cruise ship.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I'm back on Yeah Write. </span><br />
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<br />Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-16923657784276640642013-09-30T16:58:00.000-07:002015-07-12T23:19:19.546-07:00Less Housework, More Sex<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitzzu0AoTjnZSAt7HHzVLKzNhhVU5Nx1eMVdFsCA3P_AS9waX9IwsjfW5eMRqQq9QPJE4whkH5zpZcaFu-DsHKWw13D-_oFEKEiKqI6gGgLSxyuvPUaDZolEJa4Dg5mBf7w9Gpjwn07u8Y/s1600/bal2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitzzu0AoTjnZSAt7HHzVLKzNhhVU5Nx1eMVdFsCA3P_AS9waX9IwsjfW5eMRqQq9QPJE4whkH5zpZcaFu-DsHKWw13D-_oFEKEiKqI6gGgLSxyuvPUaDZolEJa4Dg5mBf7w9Gpjwn07u8Y/s200/bal2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Al Bundy, enticing his wife.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I never intended to mislead my readers, but apparently that's what I've done. In a previous post, <i><a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2012/06/the-secret-to-having-more-sex-with-your.html">The Secret To Having More Sex (With Your Wife)</a></i>, I told my fellow husbands that doing more housework would lead to more sex. It seems I was wrong – oops, sorry – but it wasn’t my fault. I was a victim of the self-serving, feminist propaganda machine that controls every major network and cable news outlet, all of whom ran stories claiming that the reward for helping with chores was more sex. Internet sites helped spread the lie too. The Huffington Post ran <i><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/06/17/why-housework-will-get-yo_n_107551.html">Why Housework Will Get You Some</a></i>, and the communist website China Daily pressed their massive misinformation machine into service by publishing <a href="http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/life/2008-03/07/content_6517465.htm"><i>Men who do housework may get more sex</i></a></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A new study in the <i><a href="http://www.asanet.org/journals/ASR/Feb13ASRFeature.pdf">American Sociological Review</a>,</i> released earlier this year, found that men who perform traditionally female chores get 50% less sex, proving again that nice guys finish last, or least they have to finish by themselves. When men perform female chores it makes them seem less masculine and less desirable sexually.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">As a diehard fan of the TV series <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0092400/">Married With Children</a>,</i> I should have been immune to the intellectual folly that led me to believe that mucking a toilet in the bathroom would lead to rutting in the bedroom. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Al Bundy didn’t have a domestic bone in his body. He preferred to recline in front of the television with his right hand comfortably tucked into his trousers, yet his wife, Peg, pursued him relentlessly, constantly begging for sex.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWV5qCkkxmF7AQImCCUKmJdgJb2tTGNIhTTCVsWDBzxQl9RCdUz_0f8EA3ojiHwnVJTL2w7GuEUxiet7MW42Eu7opxKVJZWysMzUjPyvhMkBRlInN0py-hEJvYxj7ArDU9G8Nv8t_RuWWD/s1600/june_cleaver.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWV5qCkkxmF7AQImCCUKmJdgJb2tTGNIhTTCVsWDBzxQl9RCdUz_0f8EA3ojiHwnVJTL2w7GuEUxiet7MW42Eu7opxKVJZWysMzUjPyvhMkBRlInN0py-hEJvYxj7ArDU9G8Nv8t_RuWWD/s200/june_cleaver.gif" width="147" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/June_Cleaver">June Cleaver</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My new advice for husbands is to follow what I call the Al Bundy rule: Don’t do any chore that Al wouldn’t do, which doesn’t leave much. Do not wash a dish, mop a floor or do laundry. Do not cook a meal, make a bed or arrange couch pillows. If June Cleaver did it, then men shouldn’t. Performing typical male tasks is fine, however. Checking the oil dipstick, mowing the lawn and screwing and unscrewing light bulbs all help enhance a husband’s aura of virility.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It’s not enough to avoid housework, men must also engage in activities that scream, “I AM A MAN, DAMN IT!” Once again, Al Bundy provides the example for us lesser men to follow. Now, I enjoy professional sports, but I rarely devote much time to watching millionaires toss a ball around. That’s about to change. Starting next weekend, I’m going to grab my big 52-inch Samsung, plant my ass on the couch, drink beer, watch NFL Sunday, shove my hand in my crotch and scratch my balls. Nothing better coveys an image of manliness quite like rooting around your own pants playing hacky sack.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I can’t wait until Kellie gets home so I can tell her the good news about my plans to give our sex life a kick. She’ll be so impressed. I would have started the whole ball scratching thing this past weekend but she was on cruise ship with her mother. They took a long weekend excursion to Mexico. I stayed home to chauffeur our daughter to and from her cheerleading practice, tend to our dogs and prepare for a visit from our from our Belgian friends by cleaning the house. </span><br />
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<br />Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-38317484532998295982013-09-16T08:55:00.000-07:002013-09-20T07:18:23.183-07:00Turn the Damn Lights Off<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.feit.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCqWtrT5nlaB1Gmp8Jvu9Rq_Iic5AkQ9hbqFj64i19NLRiZYdEIMu2_-kHWGQpuwMkbzKbebIAtOSMcl7IM1Cy00wOAAxS9_aLhQQon53kuE9PNLtsnFr02GTlmNVZ86w9qG4BOUFacsxg/s200/thumb.php.jpeg" width="117" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">When I was a kid my father would yell at me and my siblings for leaving lights on everywhere. We never appreciated why he got so annoyed. "When you pay the electric bill, then you'll understand," he'd bark in frustration. As with most things, dad was right. Now I'm the ranting father, chasing my kids and complaining about finding lights on in empty rooms. I know the situation is hopeless because teenagers have a congenital defect that renders them incapable of turning off lights.</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My daughters spend an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom cleansing and face painting. The light fixture over mirror where the maintenance takes place has ten incandescent bulbs. I imagine my electric meter doing pirouettes every time they're getting ready to go out. Of course, my meter is digital now and it doesn't spin, but I remember the old ones and that's what I see in my mind's eye. Tired of being ignored, I replaced their switch with a motion sensor that kills the lights 12 seconds after all activity ceases. Unfortunately, the device is not sensitive enough to detect the slow motion process of applying eyeliner and the girls frequently find themselves stranded in dark before their work is complete. To prevent the recurring blackouts, they overrode the motion sensor. I countered by covering the override button with tape. That proved to be about as effective as the Maginot Line.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I eventually decided that it wasn't worth destroying my relationship with my daughters over a physical disability they couldn't control. Instead, every time I found the bathroom light on I removed one of the ten bulbs and replaced it with one that burned out. They were down to four working bulbs before they realized they weren't going blind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Nearly every other light fixture in the house has been replaced with compact fluorescent or light emitting diode (LED) bulbs. Only our bathrooms still need to be retrofitted with energy efficient lighting. Those three rooms, the smallest spaces in the house, have a total of 36 incandescent light bulbs, producing 2,160 watts of flying photons that make my blood pressure spike every time somebody takes a piss with the lights on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This madness is going to end. <a href="http://solarpowerjoe.com/">Our new solar power system</a> should be converting sunlight to electrons by January, and I have no intention of wasting clean energy to illuminate what routinely happens in a bathroom. I'm replacing those Hollywood lights with smaller fixtures equipped with LED bulbs. Now my daughters will have to do something else to aggravate me, which they undoubtedly will.</span><br />
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<br />Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-47363431982080750442013-09-03T13:18:00.000-07:002013-09-03T13:18:51.522-07:00The True Cause of Global Warming<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjxAniI_HIn5_Ie0lj_QUvQ5atZNKHryt49E7eVjmJ3xqUIcrslRkogqxpD_HXPg4u2kxKBFpWECIg8GjuuQSkmaxpJKnigRjiMfMQQVE2K8VW6zs3uck7j2NViXmHJlG3zisOMaL79BX7/s1600/11949897301533444569venus_dan_gerhards_01.svg.med.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjxAniI_HIn5_Ie0lj_QUvQ5atZNKHryt49E7eVjmJ3xqUIcrslRkogqxpD_HXPg4u2kxKBFpWECIg8GjuuQSkmaxpJKnigRjiMfMQQVE2K8VW6zs3uck7j2NViXmHJlG3zisOMaL79BX7/s200/11949897301533444569venus_dan_gerhards_01.svg.med.png" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Since the mid 19th century, the average temperature of the Earth’s atmosphere has risen by 0.8 </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup>o</sup></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">C, with most of the temperature rise occurring in the last 30 years. The global warming environazis want us to believe that man’s industrial activities are the cause, but a relatively straightforward calculation proves that men are blameless. Full responsibility for an overheating globe lies squarely in the failing wombs of menopausal women.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We only need two pieces of information to prove that menopausal women are responsible for the observed </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Global_warming" style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">0.8 </span><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup>o</sup></span><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">C increase in atmospheric temperatures</span></a><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">: the mass of the atmosphere being warmed and the total heat produced by all menopausal women throughout history.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The mass of the atmosphere is 5.3x</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">10</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup>18</sup></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> kg, but since menopausal heat will only rise to an altitude of 3031 feet, only 10 percent of the total atmospheric mass is affected. So I’ll use 5.3x</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">10</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup>17</sup></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> kg as the mass of the atmosphere being heated.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Obtaining the total heat released by all women is not as simple. First, we just need to know how many people have ever lived on Earth. Numerous estimates put that number at approximately <a href="http://capitalogix.typepad.com/public/2013/01/how-many-people-have-ever-lived-on-earth-.html"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">107 billion</span></a>. If half of them were women, we get 53.5 billion hot-flashing women dumping waste heat into the atmosphere since 8,000 BC. Just how much heat does each woman release. In one of my earlier posts, <a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2013/04/the-thermodynamics-of-menopause.html"><span style="color: #021eaa; letter-spacing: 0px;">The Thermodynamics of Menopause</span></a>, I calculated the heat released during the average hot flash to be 137,412 joules. Since my wife, Kellie, has a hot flash every 45 minutes, that yields more than 58,000 flashes over a 5 year period, which I’ll assume is a typical value. Now we simply have to calculate total heat.</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Heat(Q) = 5.35 x 10</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup>10</sup></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> women x 137kJ/flash x 58,000 flashes</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Q =4.2</span></i><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> x 10</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup>17</sup></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> kJ</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></i>
To solve for the temperature change of the atmosphere, I’ll use the equation</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
<i>Q = Cp × m × ∆T</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
where</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
<i>Cp = specific heat capacity of air </i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">m = mass of the atmosphere being heated</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">∆T = temperature change of atmosphere</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
Rearranging the terms and solving for<i> ∆T </i>we get</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br />
<i>∆T = (Q/Cp </i><i>×</i><i> m)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>
<i>∆T = (</i><i>4.2</i><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> x 10</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup>17</sup></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> kJ</span></i><i>)/((1.0kJ/kg-</i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup>o</sup></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">C</span><i>) </i><i>× (</i><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">5.3 x 10</span></i><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup>17</sup></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> kg))</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></i>
<i>∆T = 0.79 </i>± <i>0.02 </i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup>o</sup></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>C</i></span><i></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Q.E.D.">Q.E.D.</a></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The result agrees so well with the observed rise of 0.80 </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup>o</sup></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">C that it's almost </span>unbelievable<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">. The precision and accuracy of the </span>preceding<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> calculation clearly demonstrates female </span>culpability for the global warming crisis.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Can the medical industry do anything to quench the female fires? Sadly, they cannot. Even if we immediately devoted the world's entire industrial capacity to the production of estrogen, we couldn't manufacture enough of the hormone to stem the growing torrent of heat flowing from an aging female population.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Recalling the 1992 book by John Gray, <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0060574216/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0060574216&linkCode=as2&tag=theda01-20">Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus</a></i>, we can now appreciate why the surface temperature of Venus is a scorching 467 </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup>o</sup></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">C. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">To avoid a similar fate here on Earth, there is only one thing we can do. Menopausal women must be relocated to a cooler planet. Mars, whose surface temperature is typically a refreshing 55 </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup>o</sup></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">C</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> below zero, is an ideal location. Not only will it make menopausal women more comfortable, they just might warm the planet enough to make Mars habitable again. It’s a win-win for everyone.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"></span>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7930912702422449300.post-35949726433556314852013-08-19T10:32:00.000-07:002013-08-20T07:33:20.022-07:00The Menopause Bomb<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1F5Q7nO4hN6CNtLDLcqqzPdxktFLRLILMGP3ifaoUiVoJ_sF0jarvtzNt8h0OyIOKTdd1bNCSOvl9Nmi-anUG0qvs6NxV4OVXUX-MmtObQtkVnPZtKUm08prRRKPYrN3Qe3mhQREDBvq/s1600/613445810_2249c2d193.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1F5Q7nO4hN6CNtLDLcqqzPdxktFLRLILMGP3ifaoUiVoJ_sF0jarvtzNt8h0OyIOKTdd1bNCSOvl9Nmi-anUG0qvs6NxV4OVXUX-MmtObQtkVnPZtKUm08prRRKPYrN3Qe3mhQREDBvq/s200/613445810_2249c2d193.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jamescridland/613445810/">James Cridland</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Over the past few weeks, one of my older posts, <i><a href="http://www.livinginkelliesworld.com/2013/04/the-thermodynamics-of-menopause.html">The Thermodynamics of Menopause</a></i>, has been getting flooded with hits from the Ukraine. That post explained how my wife’s 35,000 hot flashes released energy equivalent to 4,809 sticks of dynamite. There’s only two possible explanations for the sudden Ukrainian interest in Kellie’s World: They're either having a global warming induced menopause crisis and they’re looking for expert help, or terrorists working out of the former Soviet Republic are trying to weaponize menopausal women. I hope that I wasn’t the cause of those recent terror warnings that lead to the closure of several U.S. Embassies across the Middle East.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Kellie’s hot flashes occurred over a three year period, limiting the instantaneous energy release and thus minimizing collateral damage. I was the only one hurt. If terrorists could somehow synchronize the hot flashes of 35,000 women, they would possess a powerful explosive capable of evading any current detection technology. To effectively combat this new threat we need to assess which targets are most vulnerable. </span><br />
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This new explosive cannot bring down an aircraft since few planes are capable of carrying enough passengers to achieve detonation. At worst, the cabin might get a little warm. Cruise ships, however, are more vulnerable. The largest vessels can carry over 5000 passengers, half of whom are presumably women. Fortunately, the average age of cruise ship passengers is over 80, well past menopause, and any attempt to fashion an improvised explosive device from these women would be a dud.</span><br />
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The most likely target for a weapon of mass deovulation is sports stadium, some of which can hold over 100,000 people. With a capacity of 150,000, Rungnado May Day Stadium in North Korea appears vulnerable, but it’s probably safe since average life expectancy there is so short few women live long enough to reach menopause. </span><br />
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I’m much more concerned about the risk to venues here in the United States. The largest stadiums in this country host collegiate football teams. Luckily, most college girls are premenopausal and their explosive potential has not yet fully matured, and while 40,000 wild, screaming, drunken coeds might make middle-aged men worry about a premature detonation, I doubt there’s any real risk of getting blown away. </span><br />
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Professional sports venues are another matter. MetLife Stadium, home of the New York Giants, has a capacity of 82,500. It’s clearly large enough to assemble a critical mass of menopausal women. Given the Giants’ dismal performance last season, forlorn husbands might use their wives to assemble a domestic device and eliminate two disappointments in a single strike. </span><br />
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I’m expecting a knock on my door any minute now from National Security Agency officials. If the PRISM surveillance program failed to detect the subversive nature of my thermodynamics post, this one will undoubtedly get caught. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02865863984001684338noreply@blogger.com41