From The Towerlight:

How do you give a woman an orgasm? How do you give one to yourself? Where’s the G-spot? These questions were answered March 14 during “I Love Female Orgasm,” a lecture designed to explore the intricacies, myths and facts about female sexuality.

Sex educator Dorian Solot and her husband Marshall Miller spoke to about 500 students in the University Union Chesapeake Rooms.

Solot focused on one headline: “Can’t peak with him? Fail proof ways to reach the finish line.” The article referenced climaxing together with a partner. Solot spent a few minutes dispelling the notion that a simultaneous orgasm is an easy task as seen in movies and television.

“It’s perfectly fine to have sequential orgasm,” Solot said.

The crowd was then divided by gender and the women were given the opportunity to ask questions and take advantage of Solot’s expertise.

The men moved to Room 305 and discussed how to become a better lover and listened to Miller compare driver’s education and sex education. According to Miller, sex education instructors implore more of a “just don’t do it” approach and that it’s dangerous. If driver’s ed was taught the same way, lessons would focus on always wearing your seatbelt and you wouldn’t be taught how to parallel park, he said.

I wish I would’ve known about this. I also wish, really really wish, that a lab section was offered!

Customers at some suburban pizza parlors are getting something extra with their pepperoni and mushrooms – wanted posters for parents accused of failing to pay child support.

The idea came to Cynthia Brown, executive director of the Butler County Child Enforcement Agency, while she was ordering pizza.

“It suddenly dawned on me that most people running from the law don’t eat out, they order pizza,” said Brown, whose county is north of Cincinnati.

Butler County has printed posters with mug shots of its 10 most-wanted parents, placing them in post offices and other government buildings and sending them to Ohio’s 87 other counties. The lineup, chosen by prosecutors, is changed twice a year.

The Butler County sheriff’s office served 1,224 nonsupport warrants last year, said sheriff’s Sgt. Todd Langmeyer. The county has about 350,000 residents.

Brown approached several restaurants and chains with her idea of affixing the posters to pizza boxes, but so far only three pizzerias are participating.

Since the first pizza posters appeared in August, they have led to one arrest, Langmeyer said. “It’s a good idea any time you can put the faces out there,” he said.

The owner of Karen’s Pizzeria hasn’t heard any complaints about her participation in the poster program.

“Some customers joke about it and say they’re glad they aren’t on it,” Karen Willis said. “Most seem to think it’s a good idea.”

Cool idea, but I bet if I delivered a pizza to someone whose photo was plastered across the box, I wouldn’t get much of a tip.

It didn’t take much effort for my classmates to convince Dr. D to hold our HEL class outside yesterday; it was a such a beautiful day. We wandered all over campus looking for a place to sit and have class, and eventually we did, on the hill between Smith and Hawkins Hall. Here, in the beautiful spring weather, many of us sat on recently returned papers; I had a Towerlight stuck in my bag, I sat on that.

And yet, when class was over — we learned all about the Norman Invasion of 1066 — I, and most everyone else, all checked our asses for grass stains. If I had any, which I suppose, precautions aside I might have, at least no one was rude enough to come up and inquire, “Hey, did you shit your pants green?”

Thank goodness for the small favors.

From The Baltimore Sun:

A small plane crashed near a Jacksonville home this morning, killing all three passengers on board, fire officials said.

The plane went down in a wooded area in the yard of the home of Edward and Nancy Bromwell. A wing of the plane lay a few feet away from their manicured shrubs.

No one was home at the time of the crash.

Neighbors speculated that the plane might have been trying to make an emergency landing at the Hillendale Country Club’s golf course, which is located a few hundred yards away.

My parents used to tell me “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

Fortunatly, they never said “if you don’t have anything nice to type, don’t type anything at all.”

Key on that word: rumor.

I saw this on TVShowsonDVD, so don’t get mad at me if they’re wrong:

Next month, I’m [Bear McCreary, show composer] in the studio working on the Battlestar Galactica Season 3 soundtrack album (which will definitely have All Along the Watchtower on it!). Our release date will be mid-August, to coincide with the DVD release.

Good stuff!

Warning: spoilers for BSG from this point on. Read at your own risk.

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A week and a half for spring break actually felt like I’d been away for a lot longer this morning, as I negotiated the Towson Bypass and made a right-hand turn onto campus, just before the Berkshire foot-bridge. I came around the gentle slope at the top of the low hill, then gasped as I saw the vista in front of me. A mud pit in front of Lida Lee. Scores of trees gone. Construction trailers.

I wish I could express how different the campus felt this morning — exposed, bare, naked. It was like someone had reached down with a (giant) ice cream scoop and brutally raped the campus grounds. I wish I had my camera, I wish I had before-and-after photos, I wish those trees were back.

There’s an article in the Towerlight about the construction. It ends with the thought “TU may need even more patience in the months to come.” Nice. How about trees? Can we get more trees?

(I’m bringing my camera on Thursday to take photos).

Monday night was slow, in terms of deliveries. There was a late spate which I was grateful for, but before that, I wound up taking a single down Sweet Air Road. It was hard to avoid noticing the accident at Sweet Air and Manor — someone lost control and dove headfirst into a telephone pole. It didn’t appear that anyone was hurt, but two police cars — lights flashing — were blocking northbound Manor Road and eastbound Sweet Air. An officer was directing traffic. No big deal, I got through, made my delivery, and came back the same way.

And here’s where it gets fun.

So, when you’re westbound on Sweet Air, you come over a hill just past Manor Knoll and have a long view ahead — at least three quarters of a mile, I’d guess. You can see the traffic light. You can see the guy in blue in the intersection, and even if you can’t, you can see the police car with flashing blue and red lights.

Anyways, so I’m making sure I’m doing the speed limit and as soon as I can see the officer holding his palm up to me, I stopped my car and waited for him to motion me through. The traffic light was green, but anyone who remembers their driving test knows that regardless of the signal, you obey a police officer’s instructions.

So I stopped.

The white pickup truck accelerating towards me, however, didn’t.

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I’m making progress through Enterprise’s third-season. Yesterday, I watched an episode entitled “Impulse.” The Enterprise is trying to locate a super-weapon being manufactured by a race called the Xindi in an unpredicatable region of space called the “Delphic Expanse.” That’s, in short, the plot of the entire third season. Anyway, so Enterprise is in this “Delphic Expanse”, known for its strange spacial anomalys, when they get a distress call from a Vulcan ship. A boarding party heads on over and, y’know, it’s essentially “Night of the Living Dead” in outerspace featuring crazed zombie Vulcans. I don’t know that the episode was all that great, but I’m surprised that, for a crew which relaxes once a week for a “movie night” during which old 20th century films are shown, Archer never orders “set phase pistols to kill, destroy their brains!”

I, also, wrote a (never-finished) Star Trek story about zombies. Not zombie Vulcans, though.

Spring Break can’t be over. I mean, it really really can’t be over. I don’t want it to be over. I want to hold onto it, kicking and screaming as I’m forced back into the draining work/school schedule I’ve subjected myself to for the last seven months. You know it has got to be bad when you work fifty hours in six days and find yourself thinking about how much free time you’ve had, and how you’re going to miss all that free time when classes resume.

For me, classes resume tomorrow. Technically, today is the last day of my Spring Break, even though I am spending all day working.

I’m already making plans for late May and early June. I’d like to take a few days off and make another trip to West Virginia for some rest and relaxation. I wish I could have gotten more rest in this past week, but the reality is that my school workload, my work workload, and the crush of bills and my worry about paying them is very wearing. Saturday was great — it was, really — in addition to the not-so-hot Beer, Bourbon and Barbeque, I met up with Jennetic in the afternoon and got to meet her sister, Drella, who is totally and completely awesome, and their friend L., who shares my road-rage (I’m not alone in wanting to drag people out of their cars and beat them senseless!!!)

Still, I’m dreading returning to school. Maybe it’s just this taste of freedom, or all the free time I’ve enjoyed. I certainly didn’t do anything productive — I didn’t clean my apartment like I said I would, I didn’t do my taxes, I barely did any laundry and I certainly didn’t clean my car out (or wash it).

For my night class tomorrow, I’m writing a short-story (it’s either that or an analytical paper). Anyway, I’ve got to write a “proposal” for the story, and the story I keep thinking I want to write — about a Marine who returns from Iraq and travels to his grandparents’ dead farm to find himself seems a little too derivitive of two stores we’ve read this semester: “Soldier’s Home” by Hemmingway and “Displaced Person” by Flannery O’Connor. I guess it’ll depend if I think of something else to write about today at work, otherwise, that’s what I’m going with.

I really wish I could get a second week of spring break. Please? Pretty please?

I didn’t even get down to Ocean City!

(Actually, I think it has probably been about four years since I’ve been to Ocean City).

Pest Control is one of those things that the food industry has a love/hate relationship with. I mean, in any food establishment, cleanliness is priority number one — even above selling food or making money. Ever been running a shift when the health lady (of guy) comes around, and you’ll know what I mean. Every restaraunt I’ve ever worked in has employed a pest control agency to come around once a week and do a little pest control.

Gary’s very strict about when he wants his pest control done.

Here’s when he doesn’t want it done: Friday at noon when the lobby is packed with customers.

And there you are, Mr. Pest Control, all zippered up in your stupid gray costume with your equipment and your pouches and bags hanging off of you, looking like some overmuscled half-wit junior ghostbuster, insisting that you be allowed to do your work, no doubt too fucking stupid to understand why Gary, why dear poor patient Gary, is so very insistent that you not do your job in front of his customers who, after viewing such a sight, might indeed be disinclined to order food on this particular day.

Hearing about the confrontation later, Gary explained that he was very close to escorting Mr. Pest Control into (the rapidly approaching front of) a bus. Zap, who witnessed the event, expressed his opinion that Mr. Pest Control would’ve put dear Gary into a trashcan and rolled him down the parking lot into the dumpster.

HT: Someone Elses Horoscope

Tonight, the third season finale of Battlestar Galactica airs on the Sci-Fi channel. Among other things (like the possible reveal of the five final Cylons), the fate of Gaius Baltar is almost sure to be decided. He’s on trial on charges of collaborating with the Cylons, and since enough evidence doesn’t exist to charge him with sabotauging Colonial defenses before the twelve colonies were nuked into non-existance, he’s being charged for his actions on New Caprica.

But is he guilty? Is he guilty of handing humanity over to the Cylons?

I’m going to go out on a limb here and say “no.”

Don’t get pissy with me! Sure, Baltar’s a slimy, duplicitious wanker, sure, no one’s going to cry if someone — like a bunch of Marines — lays a beat down on him.

Consider, though:

1. Why did Baltar provide the Cylons with access to the Defense Mainframe prior to the attack? It wasn’t because he wanted to see humanity wiped out, it was because – oh yeah – he was sleeping with that hot tall blonde chick who he thought was working for a defense contractor. If he’d ever done her doggy-style and noticed her glowing red spine — and then not altered Colonial security, yeah, well, then you might have a case.

2. As for denying involvement in the Cylon attack afterward — well, shit, wouldn’t you? Would you admit you helped kill billions of people because you wanted some tail? I’m guessing … no.

3. As for New Caprica … I guess you can debate the wisdom of settling down like Baltar ordered, but you could even consider that decision a referendrum from the vote that elected him president.

4. And once the Cylons showed up — sure, Baltar should’ve shown some fucking backbone, should’ve stood up to the Cylons, even if it got him thrown into jail or executed. But is cowardice a crime worth executing? For me, the question becomes, ‘would life on New Caprica have been any better or worse if the Cylons hadn’t had a figurehead president to rule through?’ I don’t think it would’ve been.

So, that’s my verdict on Baltar.

(Oh – although his role in the death of the Marine on Pegasus in “Resurrection Ship Pt. II” can possibly be defended by the inhuman treatment shown to that prisoner by that ship’s crew).

Yesterday, I accompanied Geisha to the Beer, Bourbon and Barbeque event at the 4-H building located on the Maryland State Fairgrounds in Timonium.

Let me boil this down to you in a nutshell: drunk rednecks with BBQ sauce drippling down their chins.

Roadsters: Great Onion Rings, so-so BBQ

After making this observation to Geisha, she chided me for my lack of brainpower: an event playing up beer, bourbon, and barbeque? Who exactly was this event supposed to be geared to? Duh!

The BB&BBQ was also WAAAAY overpriced. I had the “designated driver” entry — $10 just for admission. Geisha had the full-service entry — $20, a glass, and six “sample tickets” enabling her to enjoy six samples of beer, liquor, or those dinky little meat chunks in a tiny plastic souffle cup. Long story short, the event was waaay overpriced for what it offered.

“Oh, please pay us $20 so you can show up, get a silly little glass, have the equivilant of two glasses of beer, and get raped on the price of a meal if you choose to indulge on some barbeque.”

Here’s what $20 gets you – a silly little glass! (Held by the disembodied hand of Geisha)

Sure, the Kelly Bell Band might’ve been worth the entry cost to some people, but, personally, I can think of things I’d rather do with my time and money. Like, going to a bar with an Andrew Jackson and getting a good burger and a few beers and leaving a nice tip and still walking out with a few bucks in my pocket.

It wasn’t entirely a wasted event — I got a nice beer glass with a Natty Boh label (it’s in the dishwasher at the moment). Actually, I got two of them (they’re in the dishwasher, together).

(And don’t even get me started on the horrible fucking parking at the Fairgrounds — let’s just say a lot of people weren’t going to be able to move their vehicles because people parking behind them … and in front of them).

We use handwriten tickets at the Indy shop. Sometimes, as it did last night, this leads to me almost getting my ass kicked.

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