Girls, it’s not the distraction, it’s the erection.

Memo: regarding females protesting being told they are a distraction in school because of their clothes.

The truth has been kept hidden for so long, that many actually believe it is about the girls. That they should be sent home, lectured to, and covered up. But deep down we all know this is bull. Even when females wore loads of clothing, from cap covered heads to floor length skirt, males would fall into slobbering fits over the sight of a boot covered ankle, a bit of bare wrist, so it’s not how revealing clothing is.

It’s about the erection. Someone had to say it.

Newly minted teenage boys get fed-exed truckloads of hormones, and even when there is nothing remotely sexy going on, for example, he can be sitting with grandma while Matlock is on, and the hormones can begin to fight for their right to party. The male is now horrified and uncomfortable, not just because grandma is there but because the dress slacks he’s wearing are from last year. Mom refused to buy more because he’s growing out of them all the time and grandma won’t care if your hems are awaiting a flood.
Suddenly it’s very tight in places that only moments ago were not and Male A doesn’t know if he should get up and hide in the bathroom, stay put in case someone sees the bulge, or try to think of how to make it go away. He doesn’t know what to do. Men, remembering those embarrassing moments have fought long and hard, no pun, to hide this secret and put the blame on females, instead of teaching boys how to cope.

It’s been happening for so long now that most have begun to believe it really is about the female in the tank top, or the hoop skirt that flashes the bottom edge of petticoats. That’s how long this shit has been going on. Enough already. Now the erection truth is out. Girls, this is what happens to boys. It’s nothing to do with you. You want proof? It happens in their sleep while dreaming about nothing even remotely sexy. Damn hormones never stop fucking with all of us.

That includes girls. Sure we don’t have appendages springing up and crowding our pants, but that doesn’t mean we don’t get our own deliveries of hormones that try to throw righteous parties during algebra. Those early teen years are fraught with trying to act like a regular school kid while the urge to do things you used to think were gross, tries to overwhelm you. It’s nothing short of madness.

We all deserve a medal for getting through those years.

If you’re a boy and you find this to be happening to you, get a grip on it, (again, no pun intended) and figure out how to manage your penis and hormones. They are YOURS, no one can do it for you, and you’ll have them forever (ideally). It is no one else’s problem to solve but your own. Stop blaming girls. Talk to your friends, read a health book, go on-line. Do not get taken in by a porn site, this will not help.

Sure I know the music industry, Alcohol industry, The American Car Association, swimming pool corporations, clothing for both sexes, pretty much every thing that can be sold, has been marketed to us as if it’s all about the female form, but listen up, you cannot trust those fuckers. They just want to sell you something. Look at what the cigarette industry sold us. Is throat cancer sexy? No. Would James Dean, or (enter name of every hot young man or female since beginning of time here) have been sexy without a cigarette? Uh, the answer is YES.

And if you’re a schoolteacher telling yourself, and girls in your class, that they are distracting you with their bodies, You. Need. Help. You are no longer a pre-teen or teenage boy, and it is unacceptable for you to be stuck in that mindset. You’ve bought into the lie for so long you’re on the cusp of becoming a felon. Wake up and get control of yourself.

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Merry Christmas old Building and Loan!

I want to make one thing absolutely clear, when I wish someone “Merry Christmas” it’s not about my religious leanings. I don’t care if someone is Christian or not.
It’s me, feeling and expressing the happiness of a life that is full of wonderful people. I feel a spark of being a kid again, a kid who doesn’t care what I get so much as who I get to share the day with. And in that moment, I get to smile and be one less person demanding anything of a clerk behind a counter, or the stranger on the walk to the park. The smile usually brings them ’round to cheer up their own countenance, and then I add Merry Christmas.
I imagine the Ghost of Christmas present, waving his torch around to help those with less feel abundance and love. I hope such a ghost does exist and gets to everyone who needs some cheer.
I also can’t help but feel the spirit of George Bailey after he gets his wish to have lived his life, even one as unfulfilling as he once thought it was, and joyfully runs down the snowy road, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas.

Enjoy it all. Merry Christmas.

Debbie Downerism: John Oliver and For-Profit Colleges


One of the better things about social media is that if you manage to curate social feeds with just the right balance of entertaining spirits and brilliant intellects, it delivers unto you amazing content you would have otherwise missed.

I woke up one of these days — Sunday? Monday? I’m dissertating — to find dozens of messages from social media comrades about John Oliver’s take-down of for-profit colleges. You can watch it here:


It’s very satisfying.

It is particularly satisfying if you’ve experienced what Kevin Kinser rightly points out is the oddly sporadic nature of public interest in a 100 year old institutional practice of selling education for profit. Oliver is one of the best in the entertainment-as-news genre. He reaches people that mainstream media does not. He makes difficult issues palatable for general, concerned audiences.

And if you think about debt, precarity, credentialism and financial cronyism like I do…

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More than eyes, consider the lips


Lips are ten times more expressive an organ than eyes.  They pout, frown, pucker, stretch wide to laugh, smile or take in a huge bite of cake.  They smash into straight lines of disapproval.  They tremble.

They touch things in a multitude of ways, i.e., a light brush of the lips, a peck, a flurry of kisses.  Try touching eyeballs to anything and pain ensues.

Lips are used to spit, sneer, curl, and they can be plump, narrow, full, lavished with lipstick, or chapped and bleeding.  Sure sure, eyes can ooze, be puffy, and bruised, but anywhere on the body can be used to demonstrate that sort of imagery.

Lips are so much more.  Everyone knows when an athlete, or anyone else for that matter, says the internationally known “F” word with the volume turned low.

They eyes would need help from the surrounding muscles, and eyebrows to get that attitude across.




finding my humanity

I just saw some man’s post (on FB) about how there’s always been conflict in the middle east, specifically he meant the Israel and Palestinian issue, and he doesn’t care. He wishes they’d stop so his gas prices would go down and he calls them all assholes and so on and so forth. And what struck me was that I used to feel that way, when I wasn’t seeing anyone on either side as humans.

And I am ashamed.

Not that long ago, “They” were just these strange Un-American war mongers in a part of the world I couldn’t be bothered to remember where exactly it was on a map. I’m pretty certain my Anthro teacher would say I was being ethnocentric.

Yes. That’s just the tip of the iceberg of my apathy to humans who live far away, and have cultures I couldn’t be bothered to understand. Until I did. Heck, I study ancient cultures for FUN, why not living, breathing, “They do what?!”, “They eat WHAT?” cultures, because until I start making inroads to understanding other ways of thinking, I’ll just keep thinking the same old things I’ve always thought, and how will my children learn to care for anyone different than us (U.S.) if I am not an example? It could happen yes, but it has a higher chance of happening if I wade into that murky, unknown first.

Wrestling with the change I want to see

My lesson to contemplate today is, People everywhere, especially the people I tell myself I don’t like, that I see as wrong and hate-filled, are exactly the people I need to love.

Not that anyone in particular told me to consider this idea.  It came to me.  Or maybe it’s been building up over time.  Either way, my knee-jerk response is, “Really?” thick with sarcasm, and wanting to list and underline the actions and thoughts I find so reprehensible, as if to say, “See!? How could anyone love someone like that?”

I’d rather sit with arms crossed or fingers pointing, and forget that that’s exactly what ‘they’ are thinking about those I already love.  And probably me too.  If I want ‘them’ to look beyond what scares them, and see the beauty in others, as people who deserve rights (for example) as everyone else, then don’t I need to do the same?

I feel like one of the creatures in Dr. Seuss’ story, The Zax, unwilling to alter my course and so never moving forward.