It’s Not Happening

(Forgive the grumpy tone, but I’m rewriting this after WordPress ate the first version. First problem I’ve ever had with them. Grr.)

I woke up with pink eye this morning and couldn’t be feeling more ridiculous. It’s not like I’m suffering – this isn’t like arthritis or nausea, it’s just silly – but I wouldn’t want to inflict it on anyone else. To that end, I coaxed Thanksgiving into a bag and then threw it in the river. No stress! It’s been nice, though I am sorry to have missed out on the no-doubt awesome meal at Amy’s. Puttering, eating breakfast bacon, working w/o stress, watching Mr. Show, playing with kitty. I should get the pink eye more often.

Say “conjunctivitis” a few times – it’s fun. Seriously. Do it now. To inspire you, I’ll show you a crappy picture of my eye. I wish I could show you the inside of the lower lid – it looks like someone was murdered in there.

How much would you charge to give up your right to vote forever? This study – targeting college kids, who are much less invested in voting than their elders, is spooky. Seems like a good party question, though. And dude, seriously, giving up your next vote for an iPod? You suck so hard.

Although…there are an awful lot of nonvoters out there. Why wouldn’t they sell their right to participate in something they don’t care about? As much as I hate coercion, maybe the Australians have the right idea.

That header makes me happier than any other blog header I’ve ever written. But the event did not make me so happy. Nor sad, nor all that angry, really. Perplexed, though, oh my yes. I left a load of laundry in the wash that consisted of all of my underwear (save one pair), a few socks and one shirt that I’m not especially fond or proud of. A few hours later, the washed-but-not-yet-dried clothes were gone. I looked everywhere in the laundry room, then posted a note that ended “If you took them on purpose, I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.” I’m hoping it’s all a big, weird mistake, but that seems unlikely.

Bonus weird points: There are seven bikes in that room, some locked and some not. Even those that are locked aren’t secure, because pretty much every bike lock can be bypassed with a bit of privacy and the right tools. So old, wet underwear = heroin money, whereas seven perfectly salable bikes = left behind for the vultures to pick over. Oh, and get this: a small coffee table (the only furniture in the laundry room, which guarantees that nobody will stick around to watch over their clothes) held several dry pieces of clothing which were left unmolested. Where is Encyclopedia Brown? Is Bugs Meany doing…things…to my underwear?

And it’s not especially sexy underwear, as you might imagine because everything I touch turns to antisex (I just killed some time looking for unsexy underwear pics, and believe me that is not something you need to do to yourself, and I won’t do it to you). Weirdly, I was just thinking the other day that it was about time to get a new batch, so synchronicity strikes again. I suppose I should avoid thinking about getting a new computer.

My first thought was to dread the trip to whichever awful store I would have to find that sells underwear, and my second thought was: The Internet! Can you guess my third thought? Yes, it was more or less “Let’s think this through, moron: You are currently wearing your only pair of underwear, and no that is not liberating, that is the opposite of liberating, [pause for either dramatic effect or lexical computation] that is constraining, and I don’t want to hear a word about the irony because this is an Underwear Crisis and you will move heaven and earth tomorrow to obtain an ample supply of grey boxer briefs, and then you will institute a policy of only washing half of your underwear at once so that the Vice Underwear can fulfill the duties of the duly elected underwear in the event of a future Underwear Crisis.” I usually try to go with my third thoughts, if only to get them to shut up.

Someone stole my underwear!

I was dubious back in the day when anti-porn crusaders suggested that it led men to rape women after getting all excited. It turns out that rape is way down, even as porn has never been more accessible and rape reporting has never been less burdensome. (Yes, I know, it is still burdensome, but not as much as it was twenty years ago, for heaven’s sake. And yes, there are many, many more anti-rape arguments.)

I’m a little surprised, because I am a naive man living in a man’s world, that the headline isn’t “Rape Down 72%,” because HOLY SHIT THAT IS FUCKING AWESOME, PEOPLE! Seriously, that seems to be on the same order of magnitude as “Women Gain Right to Vote” or “What Will We Call the Husband of the President?” It’s not the same as “Rape Down 100%,” which would be the same order of magnitude as “Cure for Cancer Yields Immortality Treatment” or “Jesus Returns to Earth – Funny Story, Really.” But still. Just about 1/4 as many rapes as there used to be, even with improved reporting? One rape is too many, but fewer is better, and that is unquestionably good news.