No one came close to explaining D'Alembert's principle, least of all the physics Ph.D.'s, so no one wins a swell prize. D'Alembert realized that a dynamics problem involving a body which is experiencing a constant acceleration (or deceleration) could be replaced (at least instantaneously) by a statics problem with the addition of a fictitious force of -ma acting at the center of mass of the body. In this case, my own fragile body.
I got two complaints about letting you in on the inner life of my intestines. Hey, I'm just trying to be completely open and share with you all on a human level. "People don't like reading about poop," I was told.
But the most entertaining complaint came in response to cheapdate.com:
OK, as the Taco Sauce girl, I have to clear up this unbelievable misunderstanding. To put it in the words of Rosie O'Donnell (or at least her character in Beautiful Girls, a kick ass movie BTW), you guys, as a gender, have got to get a grip. I use Taco Bell sauce when I'm totally broke and can't afford anything else. NO girl wants to be thought of as a cheap date, and I believe you and your friends would be truly frightened by the women who would respond to such a website. Women want to be treated like princesses, and the women's lib reactionism some of you guys have been riding on for 30 years doesn't cut it any more. Sure sure sure, there are women out there who would actually be offended if you held the door for them, offered to carry the packages, insisted on paying for dinner, etc. I just don't know any of them, have never met one, and have never met anyone who can give me the name of one. Women's lib was about freedom from sexism, not freedom from gentlemen.
(I just wanted to get your attention by using the word "sexual".) OK, I'm an accommodater. If I know someone wants me to open the door or carry the package or pay for dinner, I'll gladly do it. But within myself, I really don't like the politics of it. All this behavior hearkens back to a time when women were considered the weaker sex, the economically-dependent sex. It just doesn't make any sense outside of that context. Believe me, on my wages no one is economically- dependent on me.
And as long as I'm venting, this whole "girl" thing has me pissed off. I came of age when a man who referred to anyone over 14 as a "girl" would have his oysters handed to him on the half-shell. Looking deep in my heart, I knew I was not saying anything demeaning or patriarchal when I said "girl". But, accommodater that I am, I took great pains to surgically excise the word from my vocabulary. Now, 20 years later, it's suddenly cool to say "girl" -- heck, even girls say "girl". So I was right all along. But are women, as a gender, apologizing for all the grief they gave me? Hmmpph.
By the way, did you hear that we can't say "Aggie" anymore? They prefer to be called "Agro-Americans".
The first weekend of February was one of those drop-dead gorgeous Southern California winter weekends, where we all walk around congratulating each other on the fine weather. Since then it has been the longest dreary streak I remember. Winter sucks. When The Beach Boys wanted to make a million dollars, they did not entitle their album "Endless Winter". It has rained about 80% of the days, and on the days it hasn't rained rain was forecast so you couldn't plan anything. Whenever it drops below 60 degrees, I bundle up like an eskimo. Recently, while helping a friend shoot a short movie (most of which wound up not getting shot because of rain), I was wearing an undershirt, a shirt, a flannel outershirt, a sweater, a coat, long underwear, jeans, and nylon outer pants. Meanwhile this is what the actress was wearing: a sundress. Think about it before you pursue a glamorous career in acting.
Wellbutrin. Responding to my complaints about sleeping my life away and inability to focus on work, my psychiatrist added a little Wellbutrin seasoning to complement my Paxil entree. It's supposed to give me a little more zip, a little more focus, and to restore the libido that Paxil had zapped. (Not that I have anything worth doing with my libido, but I still miss it when it's gone.) But I haven't noticed any difference. Except that I felt depressed a lot more and the tears of depression returned. Very little thesis progress in February.
It occurred to me that this is the first trial that has ever come into my life, and I am thoroughly failing it. Peter (in the Bible) says trials are to faith as fire is to gold -- it burns away all the dross. But my dross just sits there being dross (very hot dross, I guess) year after year. By Ash Wednesday I was thinking it's time to stop believing my job is to get better so I can return to being a good disciple of Christ. After almost three years, I have to face the prospect of being a good disciple of Christ even if I don't get better.
That's depressing.
My bone doctor released me, much to my relief. I think the guy became a doctor so he could have a steady stream of people to impress with his eruditeness. A typical session lasted 15 minutes, including 2 minutes of talking about my bone and 13 minutes of giving me his opinion about whatever I happened to be reading when he came in. For my last visit I couldn't face that, so when I heard him approaching I stuffed my volume of T.S. Eliot into my backpack before he could see it. Then all he could think of to opine about was bicycle-related injuries. But he did give me a story that could make a good short -- he once treated a good-looking 30-year-old cyclist who crashed into a tree, and four different women showed up at the hospital claiming to be his girlfriend.
I went to a Kinko's in Hollywood, where lots of "important" scripts get copied, that had valet parking. I told this story to my friends in Hollywood, but they didn't think it was remarkable.
I'm finally going the way of all Angelenos and starting to distrust tap water (or, as we usually call it now, "Erin Brokavich water"). I can get 2 gallons of storebought for a dollar at the 99-cent store.
HE: We have to have an ending that won't piss the audience off too much.
ME: When Stravinski's `Rite of Spring' premiered, the audience had a
riot. Good art produces that reaction.
HE: So does bad art.
I got my first paying wedding video client, but it was quite a scramble. I was referred by a friend; the client calls me up to ask what I do and I say, "I'll bring over my demo tape to show you." Then I rush into the office and cut a demo tape. Then she calls a week later to say she wants to hire me. "I'll mail you a contract," I say. Then I rush into the office and write a contract. Wedding in July.
Elizabeth O'Conner, in "The Journey Inward, The Journey Outward":
What if one night I wander into a coffeehouse [run as an outreach by a D.C. church] and over the months it has meaning for me. I come to know the people who run it, and I ask questions. They tell me about a church, and I come to have an experience that sounds like theirs, but it is uniquely my experience. I move into the membership of that church and am told that I am needed to wait on tables in that familiar coffeehouse. I protest that I am no waiter and have no inclination to be one. Then they explain that the Christian life is a sacrificial life, and that my protest is the "old" man in me who will have to be hit over the head many times. I may go dutifully to my post, but no newness will break for another because I am there. Others will not inquire of my life, for they will know intuitively that it has nothing to teach them.
Comments? I have already composed for the March Bobologue a rant against the Gospel of Psychotherapy.
QUOTE OF THE MONTH "I have two friends in California. One is gay and
the other is a physicist. Neither of them is sleeping with women, but
for different reasons."
--
Steve Caddel
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