Okay, if you want to...wow, I'm replacing Zoe? That's just...neat. Dr. House is my tagline this week...cause, you know, I couldn't pass that up. Being he's a brother and all.

It was time to replace my tagline, and that line just makes sense for me right now: born old and finally having some fun in my life.

Finished my review draft...anyone want to do exploratory surgery on it? Please? I need a final 3/1.

I can look at it, erika.

A friend of mine -- an extremely reputable published author -- is putting together a book of essays on "boobs," and has asked me to contribute. Which is flattering.

Except that, as I'm now five graphs in, it's occcurring to me that they are harder to write about than I'd imagined.

Why not boobs in the sense of "that Bush guy, what a boob"?

Does it always have to be breasts?

Does it always have to be breasts?

Yep. It's for an anthology.

Maybe they are saving Bush for next year's "prick" edition, Deb.

Heh.

Although, in retrospect, I could have written something positing why the phrase "boob" is used as a synonym for "idiot", but I think that's more cultural mysogyny than I really want to explore.

So, I'm going for a good old-fashioend dissection of lust, which is turning out to be work.

Victor, why not go for a short monograph on the subject of the American male's fixation on mammaries? You know, the Golden Arches, all that happy crap? Wanting to be taken off formula and back on Mama's Milk?

Because European men, bless their discerning little libidos, tend far more toward being ass and leg appreciators. Hooters as an eatery wouldn't catch on in France or Greece, even if they were serving cordon bleu.

I'm pretty deep into the thing already, but yeah, you're not too far off from where I ended up going -- looking at the fact that it's never really been my primary fixation.