e-love and dr. j are expecting their first child. congratulations e-love and dr. j.

with that out of the way, let us now move to the interesting part of the news.

e-love describes the vaginal sonogram instrument as highly phallic. i'm not sure what he or i expected from such a tool but we agree it seems like they'd try to do something to make it, well, less obviously phallic. we surmise they feel they're dealing with childbearing age adults and should be free to let such a detail slip by. e-love and i further surmise, they assume wrong.

now in the application of the sonogram, at least they use protection. i mean of course they use protection. this is america, you know, the styrofoam country. but the question is ... if you were a medical professional working with reproductive systems and had to sheath an item that was the shape, of say, a banana, what do you think you might use?

and before you answer, let me assert that these folks are on the baby birthing side of the fence and not tooting the prevention horn as much but i gotta think they're hip to the fact that a condom just might fit this tubular rod like a glove.

can we agree on this?

well, we may, but they do not. instead of getting something to fit the instrument like a glove, they instead use A GLOVE. and when does a glove not fit something like a glove you ask? when that something is shaped like a penis.

and for those who are as inquisitive as me, they use the pinky finger of the glove. and like me, that poor vaginal sonogram device just can't catch a damn break.

so yesterday's quote was danish.

yesterday's quote is also thought to say: if you like taking pictures, in your free time, your ought to check out this american web page.

i guess i was hoping for something a little sexier than that. not sure why. it's just that a string of characters that funky look like they'd have a little bit more going on. oh well.

thanks to k jacobsen for her voluntary translation services.

if anyone speaks whatever language the below snippet is, i'd love to know what it says because i'm led to believe it is about the everyman photo contest. thanks in advance for your linguistic skills.

five or six years ago i walked into a j crew store. during the visit, a certain sweater caught my eye and i tried it on. it was super soft lambs wool and had a thick, heavy feel. being a little pricey i only picked up two, a dark blue and a hunter green. at the time i didn't realize the relationship about to be forged between me and these two wintertime garments. you see, since that day, these would be the only two articles of clothing i would wear whenever the temperature dipped below 45 degrees, except for the occasional college sweatshirt i may don on less formal situations. one day i would wear the green, the next the blue, then the green, then back to blue, green, blue, green. it was a whole thing. tragically though, another thing i didn't know the day i purchased these two items is that i would never again see them on a j crew shelf.

somewhere between years four and five my bony arm joint punched through one of the elbows. shortly thereafter another, and then another until only one of the four elbows was still in tact. what was i to do? i checked back with the crew religiously only to find tube-sockish, wafer-thin or fuzzy wannabe sweaters lining their walls. marty told me my alpha wear was out of style, has been for years, she'd add hesitantly. but, my hands were tied. i had no other contenders and therefore no other options so i continued to wear them, gaping holes in the back of the sleeves and all.

a day could not pass where i wouldn't be stopped by someone tapping me on the shoulder and saying "it appears your elbow gave away" or "i think your sweater has about had it". i would convincingly reply "oh suck, that must have just happened, well i guess this one goes to the back of the closet". but in my mind i spat on them in disgust for their petty pickiness about the completeness of garments and their irrational need for structurally sound apparel. every new day would renew this dance between the public at large and myself with no end in sight.

and then she entered. a heavenly spirit who did not look at my injured lambswool with abjectness but instead pity. her eyes sympathetic to its hurt, her hand gently touching the wound. i can fix this she said. it is here i don't feel capable of putting my inner thoughts out there to be read. they are too singsongy, too personal. suffice it to say the maimed fellows were delivered to her in the spring and returned to me before the next season's first frost. mended and healed with gray (for blue) and black (for green) gauze (elbow patches), ready to drape my awkward frame again. she has delivered me from despair and for this i'm forever thankful.

sadly, i've discovered a whole new world of patch haters living among us.

fricken wretches.

marty and i know a young man. i find him to be quite spectacular because he is unlike most people his age. perhaps my affinity to him comes from sharing a proclivity for never fitting into the peg we're told we're supposed to fit in, by the society around us at least. but he ... he is one of the most introspective and beautiful people i know from and because of it. below is an excerpt from an email he sent to marty. and, for once, i am posting it with his permission, albeit anonymously.

saw mystic river. my only thought; the film should have ended at the whiteout of the gunshot.

no question.

our film industry's obsession with explicit closure has ruined so many movies. why can't anyone leave something, make that anything, for the audience to mull over and create themselves? set the scene, draw the picture and let millions of minds divine the finale.

it is unfortunate that the majority of decision-makers are so entirely disinclined to let the minds around them have any decisions of their own.

let the creative morass flow, finally.

there have been points in my life where i feared a man's sperm supply was finite. i mean, i know everyone says this is not the case, but i also knew if there was a bottom to the bucket, i might be on a pace to get to it. i can even tell you how the imagined conversations played out in my adolescent brain between myself and an as of yet unidentified future wife.

the scene always starts moments after the doctor informed us that i had somehow used all my guys up, even though it has never been proven to be a scientific possibility. the doctor would then explain to my wife how it's really quite impressive that i found the energy, compunction and alone time necessary to entirely deplete my stock. my wife would not be moved or wowed by the doctor's opinions on the matter or that i'm, by his estimation, a medical marvel of sorts. she would instead be totally absorbed on how she was going to explain to her friends, family and as of yet unidentified second husband that the man she initially chose to spend her life with squandered all of his gametes before he was ever handed a high school diploma.

thankfully i was wrong (see exhibits one & two).

although now that i think about it, both of these children were conceived while vacationing with e-love.

i feel hot and red and wired
i feel burned out like i've expired
freaky dreams and you are there
with glowing eyes and burning hair
and i am even dreaming violent

every nerve and every cell
they've got to fight to stay alive and well
i'm in a world of chronic discontent
screaming metal and burning rubber
always shoving and raping and cursing each other
exploding into violence

try some, buy some, wheeling dealing
buy it or steal it if it makes you feel it.
we want it intense, we want our violence.
get ready to take it all the way
the things they do, the words they say
it's all so ready to get violent

wedding bells are pink and white.
chocalates and candlelight.
you and me and we make three.
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
like a comedy that never played quite right.
it's seems so easy and it looks so clean
all the shiny happy people in the magazines
but nothing seems to mean what it meant.

a flood of blood and a burning pain
broken hearts and throbbing brains
a message has been sent and it's violent

concrete blonde's violent from their group therapy album

come march, walt and i will have been using our monthly menu for two full years. in chatting about it, we've agreed we're very happy about it's effect on our dinner lifestyle. but, we also fully thought that an all-star lineup would by now exist where we could fill the entire month with nothing but topnotch winners. a quick glance at the recipe index (the best of the best) only has a paltry 11 items in it, and they are not all suitable for monthly consumption.

i think it is our hurly burly approach of selecting recipes (browsing through a number of recipe books) that is deficient. i'd liken it to picking doctors at random out of the yellow pages. some will suck and some will suck more. so my request to you all is simple, and i hope we can agree i don't ask much from you all, please send me the recipe to your favorite meal. i don't care what it is. i mean we had oatmeal last night for our official meal, we're certainly flexible. and frankly, i can't believe i haven't done this sooner. i've forever asked people for the name of their all-time favorite book, logic would reason that the same would apply to foodstuffs.

and if you a person who is only motivated by free money, i'm paying a shiny nickel to the sender of each and every recipe we try.

on the very rare occasions when marty and i wake up before both children, we drift to the center of the bed and unconsciously wrap ourselves in one another. i can't exactly describe the embrace. a leg is wrapped here. an arm will get tucked over there. etc. just take my word for it that it works quite well and proves to be one of the most serene blips in our lives these days.

recently marty mustered the energy during one such session to whisper in my ear that i smelled like sauerkraut. i gave her the obligatory and frequently used, "whatever". twenty minutes after she left the bed i wondered what she was cooking downstairs, surprised that she would have something in the oven at this early hour. it only took a few minutes to realize the culinary treat i was smelling was me.

but it still wasn't sauerkraut.

i've recently noticed a trend with me and weddings; i'm either sitting at the head table delivering a speech or i'm at the table furthest from the main table. you know, the one that backs up into the bathrooms.

this wedding was a back of the room one.

marty grew up in a very science-minded home. her father was a cardiologist. her mother an ex-nurse. two of her brothers would grow up to be doctors. marty herself, a high school science teacher. in her house, one didn't take a dump, they had a bowel movement. one didn't drop ass, they simply experienced a bout of flatulence. and, there was nothing humorous about that flatulence. you see, terribly ...

i'm coming off two weeks of being off. going into it i had large visions of all the stuff i would accomplish. while i started out strong i petered out about 79 hours into the sabbatical.

as for what i do have to show for my vacation; one partially painted dining room. unless you would like to include pulling four inch-plus hairs from my neck.

this man's new year's resolution: so we all know i'm pretty fricken good at this already. for me, life is a game and happiness is nothing more than knowing how to play it.