Fat and art.
Barbara Ehrehreich - boys will be boys.
Massive, writhing nests of butterfly larvae take over Sweden!!!
Sex and the brain (surprise, once more, we're not that different after all. Though I'm fascinated that they used pure biology to try and explain the differences they did see, instead of saying, "This social thing may also be coming into play at this point." Weird omission in a piece that bascially sums up with "it's complicated")
Wealthy men seek beautiful women! Beautiful women seek wealthy men! Hey, at least they have their own site... Whatever gets you off, I guess (definition of wealthy: man must make over $100,000 a year. I wonder what the definition of "beautiful" is?). And you gotta love their tagline: "Wealthy Men is the one and only online personals dating site dedicated to those men & women seeking a higher caliber online dating experience." HAha ha ahh ahaa
College professor ranks the relative "hotness" of the women in his class. And I'm sure that didn't affect his grading curve *at all.* Good thing we live in a post-feminist world. I mean, who needs this feminist business, anyway?
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Fat and art.
So Jenn and I have been roasting in this apartment. This has been slightly confusing, because we never roasted so much in the apartment on the ground floor. And then we figured, hey, we're on the top (3rd) floor of the building now, and 115 degrees is Really Fucking Hot no matter what floor you're on, but really, it was ridiculous up here.
Our little box air conditioner was great downstairs. Cooled everything but the kitchen, really. But up here... shit. It's been shit. Even my room, which is right next to the reading room where the damn thing is, is damn hot.
A couple days ago, I cleaned the fan in my room, which had collected a ton of dust on it. Since then, the newly-invigorated fan has been blowing shit off my walls (my room is covered in pictures, maps, posters, quotes, etc). Jenn noticed this today, and I explained that I'd cleaned the fan.
And something clicked in Jenn's head.
"Kameron," Jenn said, "does our air conditioner have a filter?"
"I dunno," I said.
"I heard from somebody that you should clean out your air conditioner's filter. I can't remember who it was. Let's check."
So I pulled off the front of our air con unit, and lo and behold!
A really, really fucking dirty filter.
I rinsed the thing off in the sink, watching all the black goo go down the drain, and then patted it dry and shoved it back into the unit.
Turned it on.
Blast of air hits my face.
And it was on *low.*
Gee, I wish we'd fucking figured that out on the day it was 115....
I was also terribly happy to hop into the car with Jenn today en route to the grocery store. Why? Cause when she turned on the car, it made that tell-tale clicking sound. And I knew what that was! A dead battery! I felt so useful.
We got a jump from the neighbor, looked for engine lights in case it turned out it wasn't the battery but the alternator, and no engine lights, so we survived a drive to the store and back.
And for some reason, I was pleased.
I've fixed the toilet, I change all the lightbulbs, I know basic "what the fuck is wrong with this car" crap, and - look! - we have a working air conditioner now, and I know how to fix one in the future.
Someday, I will be brilliant, as opposed to merely useful.